LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Gl  FT    OF 


Class 


or  THE 
UNIVERSITY 

OF 

LUFORNl^ 


an6 
TLetters  of  travel 


Stephen. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


San  TrancUco 

1908 


COPYRIGHT  1908 
BY 

MRS.  STEPHEN  G.  NYE 


Printed  by 

ttfte  fetanler-tEaplor  Company 
San  Francisco 


In  compiling  this  book  my  first  thought  and  intention 
was  only  to  have  the  speeches  and  letters  of  travel  of  my 
dear  husband  printed  in  book  form.  I  desired  to  have  this 
publication  as  a  souvenir  for  our  children  and  also  in  order 
that  our  grandchildren,  who  were  too  young  to  remember 
him  long,  and  the  later  ones  who  never  saw  him,  might  in 
coming  years  become  acquainted  with  him  in  this  way. 

Learning  of  my  intention,  the  Judge's  old  friends 
claimed  that  they,  as  well  as  his  immediate  family,  should 
have  a  share  in  the  undertaking,  and  so  the  work  has 
outgrown  the  simple  plan  at  first  formed  by  me. 

His  letters  from  abroad,  as  will  be  perceived,  were 
written  to  members  of  his  own  family.  Had  he  entertained 
any  idea  that  they  would  ever  be  published  he  would,  doubt- 
less, have  given  them  more  care,  but  they  probably  would 
not  have  been  more  interesting.  They  appear  as  he  wrote 
them,  and  that  they  are  thoroughly  characteristic  his 
acquaintances  can  testify. 

I  can  not  fully  express  my  gratitude  to  the  many 
friends  who  have  contributed  reminiscences  and  helpful 
suggestions.  I  am  especially  indebted  to  my  friend,  Hon. 
A.  B.  Nye,  now  State  Controller  of  California,  who  has 
woven  the  material  contributed  into  a  truthful  and  sym- 
pathetic character  sketch,  in  which  he  has  embodied  also  his 
own  impressions  derived  from  a  long  and  intimate  acquaint- 

[iii] 


166941 


FOREWORD 

ance.  Without  Mr.  Nye's  invaluable  aid  I  fear  this  book 
never  would  have  materialized.  Though  only  remotely 
related  to  the  subject  of  the  sketch — both  having  descended 
from  the  original  Benjamin  Nye  of  Massachusetts — he  was 
a  warm  friend  and  dearly  loved  by  the  Judge. 

Also,  I  wish  to  express  sincere  thanks  to  Bishop  J.  M. 
Thoburn,  to  Mr.  W.  R.  Farrington,  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  B. 
Richardson,  to  Mr.  F.  A.  Hall,  to  Rev.  J.  B.  Creswell,  to 
Mr.  Dudley  Kinsell,  to  Mr.  George  W.  Reed,  to  Hon. 
Grove  L.  Johnson,  to  Mr.  F.  A.  Leach,  and  to  others  who 
have  contributed  such  appreciative  tributes  of  worth  and 
affection;  also,  to  the  members  of  the  Alameda  County  Bar 
Association  for  the  touching  memorial  service;  to  Dr.  E. 
E.  Baker  for  his  fitting  eulogy,  and  to  Dr.  D.  A.  Mobley 
for  his  words  of  comfort;  to  the  choir  who  rendered  so 
sweetly  his  favorite  hymn,  "Lead,  Kindly  Light";  to  the 
press,  and  to  the  many  dear  friends  who  sought  to  sweeten 
our  grief  with  choicest  flowers.  But,  above  all,  for  the 
blessed  husband  who  was  vouchsafed  to  me  for  so  many 
years,  Lord,  I  give  thanks. 


[iv] 


(Tontents 


Biographical  and  Character  Sketch — Alfred  Bourne  Nye     .  3 

Tributes  to  Stephen  G.  Nye 35 

Stephen  G.  Nye — Rev.  James  M.  Thoburn  ....  37 
To  the  Memory  of  Judge  Stephen  G.  Nye — Rev.  John 

B.  Creswell 46 

Proceedings  Alameda  Bar  Association     .....  49 

Speeches  and  Orations — Stephen  G.  Nye 57 

On  the  Death  of  Garfield 59 

The  College  and  the  American  Boy 63 

A  Grand  Army  Address 74 

The  Legal  Aspect  of  Prohibition 78 

Address  at  a  Flag-Raising 92 

Emotional  Insanity  and  Legal  Responsibilities  ...  96 

The  Progress  of  Education 105 

A  Fourth  of  July  Oration 115 

Society  and  the  Saloon 130 

The  American  Common  School 143 

Memorial  Day  Address 163 

To  the  Settlers  of  Tulare  County 177 

Letters  of  Travel 189 

Naples  and  Vicinity 191 

The  Old  and  the  New  in  Egypt 194 

From  Cairo  to  Beirut 201 

The  Jerusalem  of  the  Present  Day 207 

Bethlehem,  the  Jordan,  and  Jericho 212 

The  Fountains  of  Palestine 217 

Nature  Studies  in  the  Holy  Land 220 

The  Oriental  Rug  Trade 224 

Three  Days  in  Florence 228 

[v] 


CONTENTS 

The  Charm  of  Venice 233 

Milan  and  Thence  to  the  Alps 240 

Interlaken,  Berne,  and  Geneva 247 

Zurich  and  Strasburg 256 

The  Greatness  of  Modern  Germany 264 

Ten  Days  To  See  Paris 274 

Unconventional  Views  of  Dutch  Art 283 

Westminster  Abbey  and  Monumental  Art  ....  294 

An  English  State  Trial .  302 

The  Lake  Country  and  Scotland 311 

On  the  Sea,  Homeward  Bound 315 

Additional  Letters  and  Lecture  on  Ancient  and  Modern  Rome  317 

Central  Florida  and  Its  Old-Time  Orange  Groves  .      .  319 

The  Boer-British  War 327 

Letter  to  His  Grandson 332 

Two  Days  in  Rome 335 


[vi] 


Cist  of  If  [lustrations 


Stephen  G.  Nye Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

When  We  Were  First  Acquent 7 

Pauline 14 

The  New  Home  at  Fowler 23 

On  the  Veranda  at  Fowler 33 

At  Life's  High  Noon 58 

The  Old  Home  at  San  Leandro 92 

The  Road  to  Sorrento 190 

Crossing  the  Nile 199 

Luncheon  under  the  Walnut  Tree 222 

On  the  Grand  Canal,  Venice 231 

Harriet  Feeds  the  Doves 236 

Hotel  on  Mt.  Rigi 243 

The  Castle  of  Chillon 255 

He  Studies  Clover  While  She  Studies  the  Guide  Book  .      .  300 

The  Family — 1892 317 


[vii] 


A 


Oo  ?ou,  O  m? 

^tlyrtle  an6  TKarrlet, 

60  U  6e6lcate  this  monument 

to  Y^ur  6ear  ^atber's  memory, 

"more  enduring  tfyan  brass." 


att6  Character  SKetcl)  of 
Stephen  <5. 


bourne 


I   UNIVERSITY 


an6  Character  SKetcl)  of 
Stephen 


Bourne 

This  collection  of  the  speeches  and  writings  of  the  late 
Stephen  G.  Nye  may  be  appropriately  preceded  by  such  a 
sketch  of  his  career  and  estimate  of  his  character  as  a  long 
personal  acquaintance  and  the  assistance  of  many  friends 
and  admirers  of  the  much-respected  jurist  will  enable  the 
present  writer  to  give.  There  could  be  no  more  grateful 
task  than  to  pay  a  deserved  tribute  of  esteem  to  one  whose 
long  life  of  seventy-two  years  was  honorably  and  usefully 
spent  in  the  service  of  his  fellow  men;  but  it  will  be  the 
endeavor  to  confine  this  sketch  to  a  plain  recital  of  facts, 
which  in  this  instance  will  be  the  best  eulogy.  The  noblest 
benefaction  to  the  world  is  the  example  of  a  good  life,  and 
the  more  simply  the  story  can  be  set  forth,  the  clearer  the 
truth  will  shine. 

Stephen  Girard  Nye  was  born  in  Westfield,  Chau- 
tauqua  County,  New  York,  on  the  3<Dth  day  of  January, 
1834.  He  came  of  the  good  Puritan  stock  —  the  race  which 
pioneered  New  England  and  fought  the  first  battles  in  the 
War  of  the  Revolution.  His  family  traced  its  American 
origin  to  Benjamin  Nye,  who  became  a  settler  in  Sandwich, 
Massachusetts,  as  early  as  1637,  and  from  whom  all  of  the 
Nyes  in  this  country  claim  their  descent.  Nearly  a  century 
and  a  half  later,  another  Benjamin  Nye,  accompanied,  it  is 
related,  by  his  six  brothers,  stood  on  Bunker  Hill  on  the 
momentous  iyth  of  June,  1775,  and  participated  in  the 


4         BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

patriot  resistance  to  the  assaults  of  the  British  forces  under 
Lord  Howe. 

In  the  westward  migration  from  New  England  in  the 
earlier  years  of  the  nineteenth  century,  one  of  the  grand- 
children of  this  Revolutionary  patriot,  a  native  of  Wor- 
cester, Massachusetts,  whose  name  was  John  Nye,  went  to 
make  his  home  in  the  portion  of  western  New  York  which 
was  embraced  in  the  Holland  Land  Company  Purchase. 
This  John  Nye  married  a  Miss  Harriet  Ellis  Smith,  who, 
also,  came  of  an  old  colonial  family,  of  Dutch  origin,  which 
had  been  established  in  Dutchess  County,  New  York,  since 
the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Her  grandfather, 
Noah  Ellis,  was  a  member  of  General  Washington's  Life 
Guard,  and  continued  in  that  position  until  the  end  of  the 
Revolutionary  War.  The  family  home  was  at  Esopus, 
and  the  building,  a  substantial  stone  tavern,  still  stands, 
although  the  British  in  1777  made  an  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  destroy  it  by  fire. 

In  the  home  of  John  and  Harriet  Nye,  amid  the 
wooded  hills,  near  the  present  town  of  Westfield,  there  were 
born  two  children,  sons,  who  were  named  Stephen  Girard 
and  George  Nye.  One  of  them,  the  younger,  became 
a  sacrifice  to  the  cause  of  his  country  during  the  great  civil 
conflict;  George  Nye  enlisted  in  the  Union  Army,  and  while 
serving  in  the  Ninth  Cavalry,  contracted  disease  and  died 
in  Alexandria,  Virginia,  in  1862.  The  elder  son  was  des- 
tined to  serve  his  country  in  another  manner. 

The  community  in  which  these  young  men  were  reared 
was  one  in  which  pioneer  conditions  prevailed  and  the 
people  were  nearly  all  poor  and  struggling;  but  the  best 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  5 

American  traditions  existed,  and  nothing  was  more  esteemed 
than  learning.  The  little  brown  schoolhouse  was  there  for 
the  sons  of  all  the  farmers,  and  the  means  of  attaining  the 
higher  education  was  not  altogether  lacking  for  those  who 
were  born  with  the  thirst  for  knowledge — the  means  being, 
at  least  in  the  case  of  one  young  man,  strenuous  labor 
and  self-denial.  With  Stephen  Girard  Nye  it  was  a  long 
struggle  to  gain  the  equipment  he  felt  that  he  needed  for  his 
life  work.  He  was  compelled  to  make  his  own  way  from 
the  beginning,  and,  of  necessity,  attendance  at  academy  and 
college  alternated  with  periods  of  teaching  in  the  district 
schools.  Handicapped  as  he  was  by  a  physical  infirmity, 
a  painful  lameness,  which  was  to  remain  with  him  through- 
out life,  it  called  for  a  brave  spirit  to  make  the  fight  and 
win  it. 

His  first  certificate,  entitling  him  to  teach  "a  common 
school  for  one  year,"  was  dated  October,  1849,  when  he  was 
just  fifteen  years  and  nine  months  old.  Other  certificates, 
dated,  successively,  in  the  seven  following  years,  attest  the 
incessant  industry  which,  two  generations  since,  was  neces- 
sary on  the  part  of  a  poor  young  man  who  would  earn  an 
education.  He  taught  school  at  intervals  over  a  period  of 
twelve  years.  During  one  of  these  periods  of  district  school 
teaching  he  wandered  away  as  far  as  Harrison  County, 
Kentucky,  to  find  a  salaried  position. 

His  preparation  for  college  was  made  in  Alfred 
Seminary  (now  Alfred  University),  and  in  1857  he  entered 
Allegheny  College,  in  Meadville,  Pa.  Upon  his  gradua- 
tion, which  occurred  in  1858,  when  he  was  24  years  of  age, 
he  took  the  degree  of  A.  B.,  and  also  won  the  Hazeltine 


6         BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

prize,  a  silver  goblet,  for  the  best  essay  upon  the  French  and 
English  revolutions. 

Several  of  his  associates  in  Alfred  attained  distinction 
in  various  walks  of  life.  The  best  known  of  his  college 
mates  in  Allegheny  is  Bishop  J.  M.  Thoburn,  so  long  the 
Missionary  Bishop  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  in 
India,  between  whom  and  Judge  Nye  a  life-long  friendship 
existed. 

To  be  a  lawyer  was  the  ambition  which  the  young 
man  had  set  before  him,  but  attainment  of  this  end  was  yet 
afar  off,  and  meantime  he  was  compelled  to  resume  teaching 
for  a  livelihood,  and  so  for  a  year  and  a  half  he  was  prin- 
cipal of  Westfield  Academy.  In  his  case,  however,  the 
resource  of  teaching,  which  has  been  a  timely  help  in  so 
many  thousand  professional  careers,  was  no  mere  drudgery 
to  be  performed  in  a  perfunctory  kind  of  way.  Stephen 
Girard  Nye  never  acted  perfunctorily  in  any  duty  of  his 
life,  and  least  of  all  in  the  instruction  of  young  minds.  It 
was  a  labor  which  awakened  all  the  enthusiasm  of  his 
nature.  It  was  the  uniform  testimony  of  his  pupils  that 
they  never  knew  an  instructor  who  displayed  so  much  of 
the  spirit  of  the  ideal  teacher — the  one  who  is  fired  with  his 
own  zeal  and  can  communicate  it  to  his  pupils.  Through- 
out his  life  he  retained  this  enthusiasm  for  the  ordinarily 
dull  work  of  the  schoolroom,  and  the  invitation  which 
brought  him  the  greatest  pleasure  was  always  one  to  address 
a  graduating  class  or  an  assemblage  of  teachers. 

It  may  be  well  here  to  introduce  the  evidence  of  one 
of  his  pupils — premising  it  by  saying  that  similar  testimony 
would  be  given  gladly  by  many  men  and  women  who  first 


'WHEN  WE  WERE  FIRST  ACQUENT" 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  7 

met  him  in  the  schoolroom  and  who  will  retain  as  long  as 
life  lasts  grateful  memories  of  what  they  owed  to  him. 
Mr.  F.  A.  Hall  of  Westfield,  New  York,  who  was  Judge 
Nye's  brother-in-law,  writes :  "When  I  first  knew  him,  he 
was  a  teacher  in  school.  I  was  a  young  lad,  and  was  con- 
stantly impressed  with  his  peculiar  straightforwardness. 
I  never  knew  a  person  so  severe  on  any  form  of  deception. 
He  never  had  occasion  to  use  the  rod,  for  the  punishment 
he  was  able  to  give  verbally  was  more  severe  than  any  that 
could  be  administered  in  any  other  form.  While  he  was 
severe  upon  delinquents,  he  was  particularly  appreciative 
of  originality  and  real  endeavor.  He  never  lost  sight  of 
a  bright  scholar  and  kept  trace  of  many  such  for  years." 

Finally,  early  in  the  year  1860,  he  was  able  to  begin 
the  study  of  the  law,  which  he  did  in  the  office  of  the  Hon. 
Thomas  P.  Grosvenor  in  Dunkirk,  New  York.  Although 
he  had  entered  upon  this  preparation  for  a  life  career  with 
his  usual  energy,  he  found  reason,  before  his  studies  were 
finished,  to  remove  to  California,  whither  some  of  his 
friends  had  preceded  him.  He  arrived  in  San  Francisco  in 
November,  1861,  and  went  at  once  to  Centerville,  in  Ala- 
meda  County,  to  take  a  position  as  teacher  which  had  been 
secured  for  him  in  advance  of  his  coming.  This  first  em- 
ployment lasted  but  a  few  months,  when  he  became  a  law 
clerk  in  the  office  of  a  San  Francisco  firm  of  attorneys, 
Janes  &  Lake.  The  same  year  he  was  admitted  to  practice 
by  the  Supreme  Court,  following  which  he  returned  to  Ala- 
meda  County,  where  he  continued  to  make  his  home  during 
the  larger  part  of  his  life.  As  no  good  opportunity  for 
the  practice  of  the  law  immediately  presented  itself,  he 


8         BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

again  took  up  the  congenial  work  of  teaching,  but  only  for 
a  short  time,  as  he  was  soon  nominated  and  elected  to  the 
office  of  District  Attorney. 

But  before  this  came  about  an  event  of  even  greater 
importance  had  happened  in  the  life  of  the  young  lawyer. 
In  his  schoolboy  days  he  had  met  the  young  woman  who 
was  to  be  his  wife,  and  when  he  became  the  teacher  of  the 
district  school  upon  which  she  was  one  of  the  attendants, 
an  attachment  commenced  which  continued  with  the  usual 
pleasant  incidents  during  his  years  at  college,  at  last  cul- 
minating in  an  engagement  at  the  time  he  was  principal 
of  the  Westneld  Academy,  and  the  young  woman  was 
again  one  of  his  pupils.  In  those  days  lovers  were  accus- 
tomed to  wait  patiently  and  prudently  for  conditions  to 
become  propitious  before  they  married,  and  this  engagement 
was  of  several  years'  duration. 

After  the  swain  had  been  about  a  year  in  California, 
he  deemed  himself  prosperous  enough  to  justify  sending 
for  his  affianced,  and  that  he  did  not  prolong  unnecessarily 
the  period  of  waiting,  or  insist  upon  opulence  as  a  pre- 
requisite to  matrimony,  may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that 
he  delayed  only  until  he  had  accumulated  the  modest  sum 
of  $100.00.  In  those  days  every  California  steamer 
brought  out  prospective  brides,  and  every  arrival  in  San 
Francisco  was  followed  by  announcements  of  marriages. 
Stephen  Girard  Nye  was  waiting  when  the  good  ship 
Sonora  reached  San  Francisco,  January  25,  1863,  bearing 
among  its  passengers  Miss  Emma  M.  Hall  of  Westfield, 
N.  Y.,  and  he  was  on  board  the  vessel  before  it  reached  the 
wharf.  The  next  evening  the  marriage  took  place  at  the 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  9 

Russ  House,  then  the  leading  hotel  of  the  city,  the  cere- 
mony being  performed  by  Rev.  A.  B.  Clark  of  Skowhegan, 
Maine,  he  and  his  wife  having  been  fellow  voyagers  with 
Miss  Hall  on  the  Sonora. 

It  was  a  day's  journey  in  those  times  by  slow  ferry- 
boat from  San  Francisco  to  Oakland  and  by  toilsome  stage 
from  Oakland  over  muddy  roads  to  Center ville.  Mr.  Nye 
was  still  engaged  as  a  teacher  when  he  and  his  bride 
settled  down  for  a  quiet  honeymoon  in  the  little  town  of 
Centerville;  but  within  a  few  months  came  the  county 
election  and  his  elevation  to  the  office  of  District  Attorney, 
causing  a  removal  to  the  county-seat  town,  San  Leandro, 
which  remained  their  home  for  twenty-five  years.  There 
their  three  daughters  were  born — one,  a  beautiful  child, 
Pauline,  being  taken  from  them  by  death  just  when  her 
early  promise  most  gladdened  the  parents'  hearts — and  two 
growing  to  womanhood. 

In  1870,  Mr.  John  Nye,  the  wife  and  mother  having 
died,  came  to  San  Leandro  to  make  his  home  with  his  son. 
He  died  there  in  1875. 

The  term  of  office  of  the  young  District  Attorney  was 
two  years,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  his  duties  were  well 
performed,  although  he  failed  of  renomination  and  a  second 
election.  Then,  as  now,  the  tenure  of  political  office  in 
California  was  the  most  uncertain  of  all  things.  During 
his  two  years  as  District  Attorney  he  traveled  on  horseback 
to  all  parts  of  the  county,  and  at  the  end  of  his  term  there 
were  few  persons,  either  men  or  women,  with  whom  he 
could  not  claim  personal  acquaintance.  At  that  date  the 
population  of  the  county  was  well  distributed,  and  Oakland 


io       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

was  no  more  important  than  Washington  township,  while 
the  now  thriving  city  of  Berkeley  had  not  even  been  named. 
The  District  Attorney  had  no  deputy  and  needed  none. 
"It  frequently  happened,"  Judge  Nye  wrote,  years  after- 
wards, in  giving  his  early  experiences,  "that  the  jail  had 
not  a  tenant,  and  occasionally  a  term  of  court  passed  with- 
out a  criminal  to  try  or  a  case  requiring  the  services  of  a 
grand  jury." 

For  a  few  months  he  varied  his  occupations  by  edit- 
ing the  local  newspaper,  the  "Alameda  County  Gazette." 
His  newspaper  career,  although  brief,  was  vigorous,  and  he 
struck  out  boldly  at  public  abuses  wherever  he  found  them, 
regardless  of  consequences  to  himself  or  others.  But  he 
soon  withdrew  from  the  paper  and  devoted  himself  to  his 
law  business. 

When  the  office  of  County  Judge  fell  vacant  in  1867, 
through  the  resignation  of  Judge  Noble  Hamilton,  Gov- 
ernor Low  appointed  Mr.  Nye  to  fill  the  place,  and  no  one 
questioned  the  fitness  of  the  selection.  The  best  evidence 
that  the  appointment  was  satisfactory  is  found  in  the  fact 
that  a  few  weeks  later  a  general  election  occurred,  and  then 
Judge  Nye  was  nominated  by  the  Republican  county  con- 
vention, and  on  October  17,  1867,  was  chosen  for  a  full 
term  of  four  years,  beginning  with  January,  1868.  He 
was  re-elected  in  1871  and  1875. 

In  those  days  the  State's  judicial  system  included,  in 
addition  to  the  Supreme  Court,  District  Courts,  and  County 
Courts.  The  County  Court  had  original  jurisdiction  in 
most  forms  of  civil  litigation,  except  such  as  dealt  with 
land  titles;  it  was  the  court  of  appeal  from  the  justices  of 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  II 

the  peace  and  city  recorders,  and  before  it  came  for  trial 
all  criminal  causes  except  charges  of  treason,  murder,  and 
manslaughter.  In  the  arcadian  conditions  which  then  pre- 
vailed in  Alameda,  the  County  Judge  was  the  great  man — 
the  personage  to  whom  the  rural  voters,  summoned  as  jurors 
or  witnesses,  were  accustomed  to  look  up  with  awe  in  his 
magisterial  office,  although  socially  it  was  the  democratic 
privilege  of  every  voter  to  meet  the  judge  upon  a  common 
level.  No  one  could  have  better  combined  the  magisterial 
dignity  with  the  social  equality  than  Judge  Nye,  who  was 
able  to  appreciate  the  feelings  of  every  countryman,  and 
who  really  enjoyed  this  kind  of  companionship. 

His  first  term  of  office  had  not  expired  before  a  ma- 
jority of  the  voters  were  ready  to  swear  by  Judge  Nye,  and 
most  of  them  regarded  him  as  their  fast  friend.  They  grew 
to  regard  him  as  one  who  could  be  depended  upon  to  exercise 
a  protecting  influence  in  all  of  their  legal  affairs.  Espe- 
cially was  this  so  with  the  foreign-born  voters,  who  stood 
most  in  need  of  guide,  counselor,  and  friend.  At  a  com- 
paratively early  day  there  came  into  Alameda  County  a 
large  Portuguese  immigration;  these  settlers  rented  or 
purchased  small  farms,  and  before  long  became  an 
important  element  in  the  rural  population.  Knowing 
little  of  the  language  and  business  practices  of  the  com- 
munity, they  were  naturally  distrustful  and  inclined  to  be 
clannish.  They  were  slow  to  place  their  confidence  in 
lawyers,  but  in  the  County  Judge  they  recognized  one  whom 
they  might  trust,  and  boundless  was  the  influence  of 
Judge  Nye  among  them  after  this  relation  had  been  once 
established. 


12       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

Some  idea  has  already  been  given  of  the  primitive  con- 
ditions of  that  early  period  and  of  the  limited  amount  of 
court  business.  The  County  Judge  was  for  some  years  little 
more  pressed  with  work  than  was  the  District  Attorney. 
"When  I  took  the  office,"  said  Judge  Nye,  "it  hardly  inter- 
fered with  my  practice."  The  salary  at  that  time  was  only 
$2,100  per  annum,  and  later  increased  to  $2,500,  but  as 
the  judge  was  not  inhibited  from  practice  in  the  District  and 
Supreme  Courts,  he  was  usually  able  to  earn  as  much  more 
in  fees. 

The  county  courthouse  of  Alameda  County  in  the 
earlier  56os  was  a  creditable  two-story  brick  building,  but 
its  surroundings  were  rough  and  unkempt;  no  enclosure  or 
improvement  of  the  grounds  had  been  made;  every  family 
in  the  little  county-seat  town  kept  one  or  more  cows,  and 
as  no  one  thought  of  purchasing  feed  for  his  animals,  the 
courthouse  square  was  the  general  grazing  ground.  On 
warm  days  "the  sleepy,  ruminating  cows"  would  collect  on 
the  shady  side  of  the  building,  giving  it  the  appearance 
and  something  of  the  odor  of  a  dairy  yard. 

This  courthouse  was  destroyed  in  the  great  earthquake 
of  1868,  in  which  the  very  center  of  the  disturbance  was 
around  San  Leandro  and  Hayward.  The  heaviest  shock 
came  at  about  the  breakfast  hour,  before  most  of  the  county 
officials  had  gone  to  their  offices,  but  the  Deputy  County 
Clerk,  a  Mr.  Joselyn,  was  caught  in  the  falling  walls  and 
killed,  while  two  other  deputies,  who  were  also  on  duty,  nar- 
rowly escaped  a  similar  fate.  Judge  Nye  paid  a  wrecking 
party  $25  to  deliver  his  library  out  of  the  ruins  and  had  the 
satisfaction  to  find  that  not  a  book  had  been  seriously 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  13 

injured.  The  county  officers  and  courts  were  moved  to  a 
Methodist  Church,  and  the  supervisors  rebuilt  the  court- 
house on  the  old  site. 

But  meantime  an  agitation  had  commenced  for  the 
removal  of  the  county-seat  to  Oakland,  which  had  now 
grown  to  be  the  great  town  of  the  county,  and  at  its  session 
in  1871  the  Legislature  passed  a  bill  which  permitted  the 
question  to  be  submitted  to  vote  of  the  people.  In  1872  the 
vote  was  taken  and  the  county-seat  was  removed,  at  first  to 
East  Oakland,  and  later  to  Oakland  proper,  where  the  pres- 
ent public  buildings  had  meanwhile  been  constructed.  These 
buildings  were  taken  possession  of  for  judicial  purposes  in 
1875,  but  Judge  Nye,  while  holding  court  in  Oakland,  and 
afterwards,  while  practicing  law,  continued  to  reside  in  San 
Leandro,  making  the  daily  trip  back  and  forth  by  train. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  in  some  ways  Judge  Nye's  attitude 
toward  the  duties  of  his  judicial  office  differed  from  that  of 
any  other  judge  before  or  since,  and  this  was  particularly 
manifest  in  connection  with  the  probate  business,  of  which 
there  came  to  be  a  considerable  volume.  It  was  evidence 
of  his  inexhaustible  kindness  and  his  helpful  disposition  that 
he  was  inclined  to  play  the  parts  of  both  judge  and  attorney 
for  the  petitioner.  The  bereaved  widow  and  orphan  child 
took  their  troubles  direct  to  the  Judge,  at  his  chambers,  or 
at  his  home.  It  was  no  hard  task  to  persuade  him  to  assume 
the  labor  of  safeguarding  their  interests.  He  drew  the 
papers,  or  required  the  clerk  of  the  court  to  do  so,  and  then 
received  them  and  entered  the  appropriate  orders.  It  is  said 
by  the  gentleman  who  was  the  clerk,  Mr.  George  W.  Reed, 
now  a  well-known  lawyer  of  Oakland,  that  the  Judge  and 


14       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

he  did  most  of  the  probate  work  of  the  county  for  a  num- 
ber of  years.  Quite  naturally,  this  extreme  helpfulness  on 
the  part  of  the  Judge  did  not  commend  him  to  the  favor  of 
those  attorneys  who  thought  of  how  many  fees  they  were 
losing,  but  it  was  characteristic  of  his  straightforwardness 
that  he  should  expect  other  lawyers  to  be  as  unselfish  as  he 
was  himself. 

It  is  related  that  there  were  other  ways,  too,  in  which 
he  was  wont  to  vex  the  patience  of  members  of  the  bar. 
Simple  in  his  habits,  and  always  hard-working,  he  some- 
times forgot  that  the  methods  of  work  of  other  attorneys 
differed  from  his  own.  When  business  pressed  he  would 
hold  court  continuously  from  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning 
until  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  to  the  great  indignation 
of  lawyers  who  were  not  accustomed  to  go  without  lunch- 
eon. Sometimes,  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  the  Judge,  in 
his  unconventional  and  simple  way,  would  produce  from 
some  mysterious  recess  under  his  desk  an  apple  or  a  sand- 
wich, and  proceed  to  eat,  while  the  court  proceedings  went 
steadily  on.  But  whatever  he  might  do  which  sticklers  for 
judicial  dignity  might  not  approve,  he  never  lost  the  re- 
spect of  the  bar  which  his  ability,  impartiality,  and  industry 
had  earned. 

In  the  trial  of  criminal  cases,  and  in  the  fixing  of  sen- 
tences, he  was  inclined  to  mercifulness  toward  the  accused, 
and  his  penalties  were  moderate  though  discriminating.  An 
incident  which  has  been  preserved  will  show  how  he  recon- 
ciled mercy  with  justice.  A  vicious  criminal  had  been  tried 
and  convicted  and  was  brought  before  the  court  for  sen- 
tence. The  Judge  imposed  a  term  of  imprisonment  which 


PAULINE 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  15 

he  thought  adequate  to  the  offense,  whereupon  the  prisoner, 
angered  at  the  prospect  of  being  compelled  to  spend  several 
years  in  confinement,  and,  perhaps,  thinking  that  the  Judge 
had  shot  his  bolt  and  could  do  no  more,  burst  out  in  a  tor- 
rent of  vile  abuse,  in  which  curses  were  heaped  upon  him 
and  all  others  who  had  anything  to  do  with  his  conviction. 

Judge  Nye  manifested  no  anger  nor  excitement,  such 
as  might  be  expected  under  the  circumstances.  From  his 
seat  on  the  bench  he  looked  calmly  down,  over  his  glasses, 
at  the  shouting  and  gesticulating  criminal,  with  such  an  air 
of  curiosity  as  one  might  show  in  examining  a  strange  form 
of  wild  animal.  When  the  abusive  prisoner  paused  for  lack 
of  breath,  the  Judge  asked  the  clerk  if  he  had  entered  the 
sentence,  and  being  answered  that  he  had  not  done  so,  he 
said  quietly:  "Make  it  six  years  instead  of  five.  We  will 
give  him  an  additional  year  to  teach  him  a  useful  lesson." 

On  September  i,  1878,  when  he  had  been  on  the  bench 
eleven  years,  Judge  Nye  resigned  the  office  to  resume  prac- 
tice at  the  bar.  Conditions  had  changed;  the  legal  business 
of  the  county  had  assumed  large  proportions  and  the  de- 
mand for  his  personal  service  as  attorney  and  counselor  was 
so  pressing  that  he  concluded  to  enter  the  larger  field. 
Efforts  were  made  to  retain  him  on  the  bench,  and  a  move- 
ment was  started  to  increase  his  salary  as  judge,  but  he  dis- 
couraged the  effort,  and  it  came  to  nothing.  That  Alameda 
County  had  been  enjoying  the  services  of  an  able  judge,  not 
paid  in  proportion  to  his  deserts,  was  the  expressed  opinion 
of  the  newspapers  and  of  the  bar  when  he  resigned,  and, 
doubtless,  these  remarks  afforded  him  more  satisfaction 
than  he  would  have  derived  from  the  largest  salary.  His 


16       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

last  appearance  on  the  bench  was  made  the  occasion  of  a 
pleasant  ceremony,  the  county  officials  presenting  him  with 
a  silver  service  and  with  a  complimentary  address. 

A  transition  period  had  been  reached  in  the  history  of 
California.  Within  a  few  months  after  Judge  Nye's  retire- 
ment the  delegates  to  a  constitutional  convention  had  been 
elected,  the  convention  had  assembled  and  completed  its 
work,  and  the  new  constitution  was  submitted  to  the  people 
and  was  ratified.  Close  on  the  heels  of  this  event  followed 
the  general  election  at  which  a  new  State  administration 
and  members  of  Congress  were  chosen.  Judge  Nye's  Ala- 
meda  County  friends  desired  to  put  him  up  for  Congress, 
and  a  solid  local  delegation  in  the  district  convention  stood 
ready  to  vote  for  his  nomination.  But  Frank  Page,  who 
had  represented  the  district  several  terms,  was  still  strong,  es- 
pecially with  the  politicians,  and  it  appeared  that  a  majority 
of  the  delegates  would  support  him  in  preference  to  any  one 
else.  Judge  Nye's  name  was  put  before  the  convention  in 
a  complimentary  way,  but  he  withdrew  it,  after  making  a 
speech  in  which  he  deprecated  the  personal  attacks  being 
made  upon  Mr.  Page  by  his  political  enemies.  When  the 
county  convention  assembled,  some  weeks  later,  Judge  Nye 
was  nominated  for  State  Senator,  and  his  election  followed 
in  due  time. 

The  session  of  the  Legislature,  beginning  in  January, 
1880,  was  a  busy  and  important  one;  to  adapt  the  codes  and 
statutes  to  the  requirements  of  the  new  constitution  called 
for  a  great  deal  of  work.  An  unusual  number  of  men  of 
ability  served  in  both  Houses;  in  the  Senate  were  such  men 
as  Dr.  Chester  Rowell,  of  Fresno;  W.  J.  Hill,  the  veteran 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  17 

editor  of  Salinas;  General  J.  H.  Dickinson;  Theodore  H. 
Hittell,  the  historian;  Dr.  E.  H.  Pardee,  Judge  Nye's  col- 
league from  Alameda  County;  Grove  L.  Johnson,  of  Sac- 
ramento, who  afterwards  served  many  years  in  the  Legis- 
lature and  also  in  Congress;  B.  F.  Langford,  of  San  Joaquin 
County,  and  Joseph  F.  Wendell,  of  Solano.  It  was  a 
marked  honor  when,  in  a  Senate  made  up  as  was  this  one, 
Senator  Nye  was  given,  without  solicitation  on  his  part,  the 
most  important  committee  assignment,  that  of  Chairman  of 
the  Judiciary  Committee.  He  served,  also,  on  the  Com- 
mittees on  Commerce  and  Navigation  and  on  State  Prisons. 
For  reasons  already  given,  the  labors  of  the  Judiciary  Com- 
mittee were  exceptionally  heavy,  but  at  the  close  the  other 
members  were  all  ready  to  testify  to  the  ability,  impar- 
tiality, and  patience  with  which  the  chairman  guided  their 
deliberations. 

Another  session  of  the  Legislature  was  held  the  follow- 
ing year,  and  again  Senator  Nye  was  offered  the  Chairman- 
ship of  the  Judiciary  Committee.  He  then  gave  an  exhibi- 
tion of  characteristic  generosity  of  spirit  by  rising  and 
declining  the  appointment  in  favor  of  Senator  Wendell,  one 
of  the  youngest  of  his  associates  on  the  committee  during 
the  previous  session;  Mr.  Wendell's  ability  and  fairness  had 
made  a  very  favorable  impression  on  Senator  Nye,  and  he 
was  glad  to  testify  to  his  admiration  in  this  way.  He  re- 
tained his  membership  of  the  Commerce  Committee,  and 
also  served  on  the  Committee  on  County  and  Township 
Government.  Following  this  second  regular  session  there 
was  an  extraordinary  session,  beginning  April  4th  and  end- 
ing May  12th,  which  concluded  Judge  Nye's  legislative 


i8       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

service.  During  his  membership  he  participated  freely  in 
the  discussion  of  important  measures,  and  some  of  his  argu- 
ments attracted  much  attention.  But  never  at  any  time  in 
his  life  did  he  have  a  great  liking  for  practical  politics,  and 
he  probably  felt  no  desire  to  be  re-elected  to  the  Senate. 
There  was  renewed  talk  at  the  election  following  that  of 
1879  of  making  him  the  Republican  Congressional  candi- 
date, but  he  would  not  encourage  it,  and  Mr.  Page  was 
again  nominated. 

Judge  Nye  was  now  engaged  in  successful  practice  of 
the  law  in  Oakland,  and  this  continued  for  ten  years,  or 
from  1878,  the  date  of  his  resignation  from  the  bench,  until 
1888,  when  he  retired  for  a  time.  His  law  partner  during 
most  of  this  period  was  Mr.  J.  B.  Richardson,  and  the  firm 
enjoyed  a  large  general  practice,  while  making  a  specialty 
of  probate  law. 

In  all  that  he  did  or  said  Judge  Nye  possessed  a  dis- 
tinct individuality,  and  this  was  as  noticeable  in  his  law 
practice  as  in  his  service  upon  the  bench  or  in  his  personal 
intercourse  with  his  fellows.  In  the  estimation  of  the  bar 
he  was  a  careful,  painstaking,  and  thorough  lawyer,  and  on 
questions  of  probate  law  he  was  considered  an  authority. 
He  mastered  his  cases,  and  his  successes  were  won  by  the 
fairest  of  means.  Hon.  John  Ellsworth,  Superior  Judge  of 
Alameda  County,  paid  him  a  high  compliment  when  he  said, 
"No  judge  ever  had  to  be  on  his  guard  when  Judge  Nye 
was  before  him."  That  is  to  say,  he  carried  into  the  prac- 
tice of  law  the  same  perfect  honesty  which  marked  him  in 
every  other  relation  of  life.  Mr.  Richardson  described  his 
methods  by  saying :  "His  mental  attitude  toward  any  ques- 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  19 

tion  was  essentially  judicial.  In  presenting  his  case  to  the 
court  the  cases  against  him  were  as  much  a  part  of  his  argu- 
ment as  those  in  his  favor.  If  he  knew  that  there  was  a  case 
hostile  to  his  contention  which  the  other  side  or  the  court 
did  not  know,  he  would  mention  it  and  distinguish  his  own 
case  from  it.  It  would  never  occur  to  him  to  ignore  it." 

There  was  one  book  in  Judge  Nye's  law  library  which 
he  studied  as  few  lawyers  do,  and  that  was  the  Bible — the 
embodiment  of  the  moral  law.  He  had  a  small  Testament 
which  he  carried  in  his  pocket,  and  it  was  as  well  thumbed 
as  was  his  Code  of  Civil  Procedure  or  his  California  Re- 
ports. In  preparing  a  case  for  argument,  especially  in  a 
jury  trial,  it  was  his  habit  to  search  the  Holy  Writ  for  illus- 
trations and  suggestions.  He  knew  how  thoroughly  the 
diction  of  the  Scriptures  has  entered  into  the  language  of 
the  common  man,  and  he  appreciated  the  extra  effectiveness 
which  the  arrow  of  legal  persuasion  gains  if  it  is  tipped  with 
a  familiar  quotation  or  an  apt  reference  to  a  Biblical  inci- 
dent. Moreover,  the  literature  of  the  Bible  had  a  great 
attraction  for  his  own  mind,  although  he  was  never  a  pro- 
fessing member  of  any  church. 

In  accepting  employment  as  an  attorney,  he  probably 
gave  less  thought  than  any  other  lawyer  in  California  to 
the  certainty  or  the  amount  of  his  compensation.  He  was 
noted  for  the  moderation  of  his  charges,  and  there  was  not 
the  slightest  calculation  of  advantage  in  the  matter  with 
Judge  Nye,  who  was  so  organized  that  he  was  apt  to  be 
more  thoughtful  of  his  client  than  of  himself.  The  amount 
of  absolutely  unpaid  service  which  he  rendered  was  great; 


20       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

any  appeal  of  distress  would  take  him  away  from  matters  of 
personal  interest  or  of  large  importance  to  himself. 

A  couple  of  amusing  incidents  in  connection  with 
charges  for  legal  services  are  recalled  by  Mr.  Kinsell,  who 
became  his  law  partner  in  1894.  A  client  came  in,  stated 
the  object  of  his  call,  and,  after  a  consultation,  asked  to 
have  a  contract  for  a  certain  purpose  drawn  up  immediately. 
Judge  Nye  wrote  it  out  with  the  brevity  which  character- 
ized most  of  his  documents,  and  the  client  departed  hur- 
riedly, telling  the  attorney  to  send  in  his  bill.  The  Judge 
asked  his  associate  what  they  ought  to  charge,  and  the  reply 
was  that  twenty-five  dollars  would  be  a  perfectly  reason- 
able fee,  but  the  Judge  protested  that  two  dollars  and  a  half 
would  be  nearer  right,  and  when  this  view  was  not  accepted 
by  his  junior,  he  finally  wrote  out  a  bill  like  this:  "To 
drawing  contract,  $2.50;  to  knowing  how  to  do  it,  $22.50; 
total,  $25.00." 

In  the  other  instance  a  client  who  was  furnished  legal 
advice  and  service  by  the  year  had  asked  for  his  bill,  which 
was  sent  him  in  the  amount  of  five  hundred  dollars.  The 
charge  was  entirely  satisfactory,  but  a  request  was  made 
that  the  bill  be  itemized.  Judge  Nye  had  not  kept  memo- 
randa of  the  consultations  or  services,  and  consequently 
when  he  undertook  to  make  out  the  detail  he  was  at  a  loss 
to  account  for  more  than  half  of  the  total.  So  he  finished 
the  statement  of  account  with  this  unique  charge:  "To 
lying  awake  at  night  and  thinking  about  your  troubles, 
$250.00." 

For  a  lawyer  to  carry  heart  and  conscience  into  his 
business  is,  fortunately,  no  very  exceptional  thing,  although 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  21 

there  is  a  popular  prejudice  which  inclines  many  to  believe 
the  contrary  of  this.  But  it  is  rare,  indeed,  for  a  lawyer  to 
manifest  these  qualities  so  strongly  as  did  Judge  Nye.  He 
possessed  a  fine  chivalrous  regard  for  the  interests  of  lone 
women  and  dependent  children,  and  whenever  he  detected 
what  he  thought  was  petty  dealing  at  their  expense,  "all  the 
man  in  him,"  as  one  of  his  friends  remarks,  "rose  up  and 
condemned  the  offender."  Injustice  to  a  wife  would  draw 
down  unsparing  reproaches  addressed  to  the  guilty  husband. 
"You're  a  nice  husband,"  he  would  sometimes  say.  "Now, 
get  out  of  here,  and  never  show  your  face  again."  An  in- 
stance is  recalled  where  he  was  attorney  for  the  guardian  of 
two  orphan  girls.  When  it  came  time  to  present  the  ac- 
count in  court  it  appeared  that  the  funds  had  been  poorly 
invested,  or  perhaps  had  remained  uninvested  a  part  of  the 
time,  and  there  was  a  very  small  showing  of  increment. 
This  so  vexed  and  humiliated  the  attorney  that  he  put  his 
hand  in  his  pocket  and  paid  the  orphans  the  legal  rate  of 
interest,  saying  he  was  ashamed  to  go  into  court  and  hear 
a  guardian  give  such  a  report  of  the  way  in  which  he  had 
discharged  a  sacred  trust. 

The  lady  who  relates  the  foregoing  incident  gives  also 
the  following:  A  poor  washerwoman,  who  owed  a  consid- 
erable sum  on  a  note,  had  saved,  by  severe  economy,  more 
than  the  interest,  thinking  she  would  be  allowed  to  pay 
something  on  the  principal  before  the  maturity  of  the  obli- 
gation >  But  when  the  creditor  came  he  was  very  well  satis- 
fied with  the  loan  and  preferred  to  leave  the  principal  as 
it  was.  Judge  Nye  observed  the  poor  woman's  disappoint- 
ment and  appealed  to  the  money-lender  to  accept  partial 


22       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

payment.  Encouraged  by  this,  the  woman  added  her  en- 
treaties, but  all  was  of  no  avail,  as  the  creditor  refused  to 
entertain  any  consideration  but  that  of  strict  business. 
Thereupon  Judge  Nye,  indignant  at  such  an  exhibition  of 
indifference,  offered  to  buy  the  note  on  the  money-lender's 
own  terms,  and  this  bargain  having  been  struck,  he  told  the 
washerwoman  that  she  could  make  payments  on  the  princi- 
pal as  often  as.  she  pleased. 

As  a  fitting  conclusion  to  what  has  been  said  of  this 
aspect  of  Judge  Nye's  qualities  as  an  attorney  and  counselor 
at  law,  I  can  not  do  better  than  to  quote  the  following  from 
one  of  the  addresses  made  at  the  memorial  meeting  of  the 
Alameda  County  Bar  Association:  "I  do  not  think  it  is 
too  much  to  say  that  there  are  scores  of  small  homes  and 
bits  of  property  sheltering  widows  and  orphans  because 
Judge  Nye,  with  his  generous  heart  and  wise  counsel,  gave 
them  the  aid  they  needed  at  a  critical  time." 

There  can  be  no  question  of  the  quality  of  Judge  Nye's 
heart.  It  was  not  merely  generous;  it  was  easily  touched  by 
the  appeal  for  help  or  sympathy.  A  well-known  lady  of 
Oakland  contributes  this  rather  amusing  illustration:  "I 
went  to  hear  Maud  Ballington  Booth,  and  by  chance  met 
the  Judge  in  the  lobby.  I  thought  it  a  great  honor  that  he 
proposed  our  sitting  in  the  same  pew,  and  I  think  I  was 
rather  surprised  at  his  frequent  use  of  his  handkerchief, 
which  was  obvious  and  perfectly  shameless.  She  gave  her 
deeply  affecting  experiences  in  the  slums  as  only  a  Booth 
can  do  it.  When  we  left  the  church  the  Judge  turned  to  me 
and  laughed,  saying:  'She  is  a  good  woman.  Now  I'll  go 
home  and  hang  my  handkerchief  on  the  line  to  dry.'  " 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  23 

During  the  period  of  his  residence  in  San  Leandro  and 
of  his  practice  in  Oakland  Judge  Nye  had  bought  a  farm 
of  160  acres  near  Hay  ward.  His  love  for  mother  earth 
was  intense  and  no  life  appeared  to  him  to  hold  pleasures 
so  great  as  that  of  the  farmer.  At  as  frequent  intervals  as 
he  could  find  time  he  would  visit  the  farm  and  form  plans 
for  its  improvement.  He  was  interested  in  every  variety  of 
grass  and  in  every  weed  which  grew  upon  the  place.  After 
he  had  planted  an  orchard  of  forty  acres,  he  felt  a  personal 
concern  for  the  welfare  of  each  individual  tree.  The  letters 
which  he  wrote  while  visiting  Europe  and  the  Holy  Land 
show  the  minuteness  of  his  observation  in  studying  and  com- 
paring plant  growths  in  different  quarters  of  the  globe. 

But  the  Alameda  County  property  did  not  satisfy  his 
ambitions  as  a  land  owner,  and  when  the  opportunity  offered 
he  sold  it,  and  with  the  proceeds  purchased  two  tracts  of 
land  in  the  San  Joaquin  Valley.  One  was  a  ranch  of  1,800 
acres  in  Tulare  County,  and  the  other  a  half  section  of  fer- 
tile soil  near  Fowler,  in  Fresno  County.  He  now  deter- 
mined to  retire  from  professional  work,  and  make  his  home 
upon  one  of  his  farms.  In  October,  1888,  he  removed  to 
the  Antelope  ranch,  as  the  Tulare  County  property  was 
called;  it  was  situated  in  the  foothills,  about  eighteen  miles 
northeast  of  the  city  of  Visalia.  The  location  was  excellent, 
a  beautiful  small  valley,  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  high 
hills  covered  with  live  oak  trees.  But  the  improvements 
were  old,  and  to  develop  the  property  called  for  a  great  deal 
of  energy  and  expense.  He  built  nine  miles  of  wire  fence 
to  enclose  the  hills  for  pasturage  purposes;  developed  the 
numerous  springs;  constructed  a  reservoir  and  piped  the 


24       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

spring  water  to  it  for  use  in  irrigation;  built  a  large  barn, 
and  remodeled  the  house.  Until  this  time  grain  and  stock- 
raising  had  been  the  only  industries ;  the  new  owner  at  once 
planted  an  orchard  of  mixed  fruits,  and  finally,  as  an  ex- 
periment, he  set  out  a  grove  of  oranges  and  lemons.  As  a 
theoretical  farmer,  he  benefited  his  neighbors  more  than 
himself,  for  he  taught  them,  by  force  of  example,  to  aban- 
don the  shiftless  methods  of  farming  with  which  they  had 
worn  out  their  soils,  and  to  resort  to  deep  plowing  and  sum- 
mer fallowing.  But  in  the  operations  already  spoken  of, 
and  later  in  trying  to  develop  larger  supplies  of  water  by 
sinking  wells,  he  exhausted  his  ready  capital,  and  since  the 
investment  was  one  which  did  not  promise  to  pay  at  an 
early  day,  he  decided  to  return  to  law  practice,  and  jokingly 
gave  as  his  excuse  therefor  that  one  law  office  would  run 
one  ranch,  yet  having  two  ranches  he  must  establish  two 
offices.  But  he  had  sown  seed  which  was  to  bear  a  rich 
harvest,  for  his  orange  grove,  when  it  came  to  maturity, 
proved  a  great  success,  and  this,  with  a  few  other  similar 
experiments,  led  to  the  establishment  of  very  large  orchards 
in  that  favorable  belt  of  land  along  the  foothills;  today 
every  little  cove  in  the  hills  is  an  orange  grove,  and  the  plan- 
tations extend  out  on  the  adjacent  plains;  hundreds  of 
pumping  plants  supply  an  abundance  of  water  for  irriga- 
tion, and  hundreds  of  carloads  of  the  earliest  and  finest 
oranges  grown  anywhere  in  California  are  shipped  to  the 
New  York  and  Chicago  markets. 

When  he  again  resumed  his  law  practice,  Judge  Nye 
established  his  home  as  well  as  his  office  in  the  city  of 
Oakland,  where  he  continued  to  reside  for  some  fourteen 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  25 

years.  His  old  clients  returned  to  him,  and  with  them  came 
many  new  ones.  Miss  Harriet  Nye  entered  his  office  and 
became  his  chief  clerk  and  private  secretary,  which  position 
she  occupied  for  a  period  of  nine  years,  developing  an  ability 
that  was  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  and  pride  to  her 
father.  In  1894  he  took  in  a  young  partner,  Mr.  Dudley 
Kinsell,  and  the  firm  of  Nye  &  Kinsell  enjoyed  a  lucrative 
business,  which  endured  until  Judge  Nye's  retirement  from 
practice  in  1904. 

During  this  period  Judge  Nye's  participation  in  public 
affairs  was  only  occasional,  although  his  interest  in  politics 
remained  keen  and  he  was  always  ready,  with  voice  or  pen, 
to  aid  a  cause  which  he  thought  called  for  his  assistance. 

His  interest  in  the  world  was  never  bounded  by  a  local 
horizon.  He  loved  to  make  journeys  through  California,  and 
also  the  States  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  One  of  the 
most  extended  of  these  journeys  was  taken  in  1885,  when, 
with  Mrs.  Nye,  and  their  daughters,  then  aged  14  and  12, 
he  visited  the  New  Orleans  Exposition,  and  afterward  jour- 
neyed leisurely  on  through  the  South  to  Florida,  where  they 
waited  for  the  winter  to  pass;  then  proceeded  northward, 
visiting  many  points  of  interest,  and  arrived  in  New  York 
in  time  to  witness  the  great  public  funeral  of  General  Grant. 
One  of  the  incidents  of  this  journey  was  a  visit  to  the  old 
family  home  of  the  Nyes,  in  Barre,  Mass.,  where  many 
relatives  were  living.  The  return  to  California  was  made 
after  an  absence  of  eight  months.  Of  the  trip  to  Europe 
and  Palestine,  which  was  made  in  1901,  a  sufficient  ac- 
count is  contained  in  the  letters  written  in  intervals  of  travel 
by  Judge  Nye,  which  constitute  an  important  part  of  this 


26       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

volume.  All  of  these  letters  were  addressed  to  members  of 
his  family,  but  some  were  given  by  them  to  the  newspapers 
for  publication.  This  trip  abroad,  and  a  preliminary  jour- 
ney through  the  United  States,  including  a  visit  to  Wash- 
ington to  witness  the  second  inauguration  of  President 
McKinley,  consumed  about  nine  months. 

Few  persons  have  a  wider  range  of  interests  than  was 
possessed  by  Judge  Nye,  and  no  one  has  ever  enjoyed  a 
more  wholesome,  simple  nature.  His  manner  and  words 
bespoke  the  sheer  pleasure  of  living.  His  sympathies 
stretched  out  on  all  sides  to  the  people  about  him — to  men, 
women,  and  children.  Deep  as  was  his  interest  in  material 
nature,  it  was  with  humanity  that  he  was  most  profoundly 
concerned,  and  a  great  number  of  persons  with  whom  he  was 
in  no  way  related  by  family  ties,  or  joined  by  business  con- 
nections, were  sharers  in  his  friendly  enthusiasms.  This 
was  especially  true  of  the  young,  in  whom  he  loved  to  en- 
courage high  aspirations,  industrious  habits,  and  the  rule 
of  strict  integrity.  To  learn  that  a  young  man,  the  son  of 
a  friend  or  a  client,  or  even  the  merest  acquaintance,  was 
manifesting  these  qualities  gave  him  the  greatest  possible 
pleasure.  He  would  oftentimes  say  to  boys:  "I  want  you 
to  study  mathematics  and  learn  to  shoot  at  a  mark."  Ex- 
actness in  both  matters  of  conduct  and  mental  and  physical 
labor  was  an  essential  part  of  his  moral  code. 

It  would,  naturally,  be  expected  that  a  man  so  thor- 
ough and  at  the  same  time  so  straightforward  would  make 
a  lawyer  who,  whether  upon  the  bench  or  in  office  work, 
would  be  direct  and  simple  in  his  manner  of  reaching  re- 
sults, and  such  was  the  case.  He  had  no  love  for  technicali- 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  27 

ties.  Indirection  and  surplusage  were  alike  irksome  to  him. 
It  is  said  that  the  deeds  and  contracts  drawn  by  him  were 
the  briefest  written  by  any  member  of  the  bar.  He  regarded 
one  clear  expression  of  an  intent  as  better  than  a  score  of 
repetitions.  When  he  was  County  Judge  he  drew  up  a  set 
of  probate  forms  which  has  remained  in  use  more  or  less  to 
this  day,  and  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  which  was 
its  conciseness. 

Something  has  already  been  said  of  his  singular  open- 
mindedness,  and  this  was  well  phrased  by  one  who  re- 
marked: "It  was  not  necessary  to  know  Judge  Nye  long 
to  know  him  well ;  a  ten  days'  acquaintance  with  him  would 
enable  one  to  know  him  almost  as  well  as  an  acquaintance 
of  ten  years;  and  this  was  because  he  had  nothing  to  con- 
ceal; his  nature  was  so  open  that  you  were  taken  at  once 
into  his  confidence.  I  think  I  never  knew  a  man  who  was 
so  frank." 

A  man  who  conceals  nothing  must  reveal  much,  and  in 
his  varying  moods  Judge  Nye  could  be  abrupt  and  harsh- 
spoken,  but  underneath  any  demeanor  there  was  always  the 
same  kindliness  of  heart  which  never  varied.  His  soul  was 
a  perpetual  fountain  of  benevolence  and  affection. 

Mr.  Wallace  R.  Farrington,  the  editor  of  the  "Evening 
Bulletin,"  one  of  the  leading  newspapers  of  Honolulu,  aptly 
described  some  of  the  characteristics  of  the  subject  of  the 
sketch  when  he  wrote :  "Unfailing  good  nature  and  perfect 
integrity  are  the  memories  of  the  Judge  that  will  stay  with 
me  while  memory  lasts.  He  was  one  of  those  men  to  make 
a  deep  impression  on  you,  and  one  that  holds  for  life.  I 
never  heard  a  petty  complaining  word  from  the  Judge.  He 


28       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

was  always  on  the  comfortable  side  of  life,  whether  things 
were  as  he  wished  or  not.  He  allowed  nothing  to  disap- 
point him,  accepting  the  progress  of  events,  not  with  in- 
difference, but  with  an  absolute  refusal  to  permit  himself 
to  be  overcome.  Judge  Nye  was  not,  as  I  knew  him,  a 
dominating  spirit  in  the  sense  the  term  is  ordinarily  used. 
He  was  determined,  without  making  any  fuss  about  it.  He 
was  original.  He  was  fair  and  square  in  his  dealings.  And 
he  tied  himself  to  your  heartstrings  in  a  way  that  will  make 
him  remembered  and  his  many  good  deeds  recalled  when 
even  the  names  of  more  pyrotechnical  men  of  his  day  are 
forgotten.  He  was  a  mighty  good  man." 

The  Hon.  Grove  L.  Johnson,  who  served  with  Judge 
Nye  in  the  Senate,  wrote  of  him  thus:  "Like  others  of  the 
Senate  in  which  he  served,  I  came  to  love  him  for  his  sweet- 
ness of  disposition,  kindness  of  heart,  and  willingness  to  aid 
others  on  every  occasion. 

"I  served  with  him  in  the  Judiciary  Committee,  and 
found  him  always  accurate  in  his  conception  of  the  law, 
always  ready  to  listen  to  arguments  and  under  all  circum- 
stances fair  in  his  treatment  of  questions  and  anxious  to  do 
that  which  was  right  and  not  expedient. 

"He  was,  I  think,  pre-eminently  fitted  to  be  a  judge, 
because,  while  unyielding  in  his  adherence  to  what  he 
deemed  to  be  the  law  and  the  right  of  the  case,  still  he  was 
so  desirous  to  give  every  one  an  equal  chance,  that  if  he 
would  have  erred  at  all  as  a  judge,  it  would  have  been  in 
favor  of  the  weak  and  feeble. 

"He  was  full  of  humor,  and  enlivened  our  committee 
sessions  by  his  witty  comments  on  matters  and  men  and 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  29 

measures  that  came  before  us,  while,  at  the  same  time  by 
his  dignity,  preserving  good  order  and  decorum  during  our 
deliberations. 

"It  was  a  distinct  loss  to  the  State  when  he  declined 
further  service  in  the  Legislature." 

Another  friend,  in  referring  to  his  family  and  social 
life,  said:  "The  Judge  was  singularly  fortunate  in  all  his 
family  relations,  and  it  always  seemed  to  me  that  his  life 
was  blessed  with  a  larger  share  of  real  happiness  than  usually 
falls  to  the  lot  of  mortals.  He  was  the  star  of  a  social 
gathering;  where  he  sat  was  the  head  of  the  table.  His 
fund  of  anecdote  was  drawn  upon  to  the  end  and  his  con- 
stant humor  was  a  joy  to  all  who  were  within  the  circle. 
Not  only  was  he  the  prince  of  entertainers,  but  he  was  a 
good  listener.  Nothing  really  good  ever  got  past  his 
notice." 

Judge  Nye's  appearance  on  a  public  occasion  was 
always  welcomed,  because  it  was  recognized  that  he  would 
have  something  to  say  which  would  be  at  once  entertaining 
and  instructive.  His  abounding  humor  never  ran  to  frivolity 
in  his  public  addresses,  which  were  notable  for  their  intense 
earnestness. 

Judge  Nye's  stories  and  anecdotes  were  famous,  and 
although  always  telling  them,  he  seemed  never  to  repeat 
himself.  His  memory  was  a  vast  storehouse  of  such  things, 
and  only  the  slightest  impression  of  a  passing  incident  was 
needed  to  touch  the  spring  which  would  bring  forth  a  nar- 
rative both  apposite  and  mirth-provoking.  His  wit  was  as 
ready  as  his  humor  was  abundant;  but  only  a  single  illus- 
tration of  it  now  occurs  to  the  writer.  On  one  occasion, 


30       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

when  he  was  in  the  State  Senate,  an  oratorical  member  had 
made  a  long  and  ambitious  effort,  upon  which  Judge  Nye 
offered  this  comment:  "The  Senator  who  has  just  taken 
his  seat  made  a  most  beautiful  speech,  but  you  may  rub 
your  hands  all  over  it  and  you  will  never  feel  a  point." 

A  legislative  story  which  is  worth  recording  is  told 
by  Mr.  Clinton  L.  White,  one  of  the  well-known  lawyers  of 
California,  who  was  recently  elected  Mayor  of  Sacramento. 
Mayor  White  was  clerk  of  the  Judiciary  Committee  of  the 
Senate  in  1880,  when  Judge  Nye  was  the  chairman.  The 
full  membership  of  the  committee  numbered  ten;  the  com- 
mittee's work,  for  reasons  already  given,  was  extremely 
heavy,  and  it  was  necessary  to  have  meetings  every  evening. 
A  majority  of  the  members  soon  tired  of  this  grind,  and 
after  a  time  only  three  members — Senator  Nye,  Senator 
Hittell,  and  Senator  Wendell — could  be  depended  upon  to 
attend  the  sessions.  It  had  been  voted  that  a  quorum  should 
consist  of  whatever  number  might  attend,  and  the  three 
faithful  ones  carried  on  the  work  until  Senator  Wendell  fell 
ill  of  a  fever  and  could  no  longer  be  present.  Then  Chair- 
man Nye  and  Senator  Hittell  constituted  the  quorum  and 
got  along  very  well  until  one  night  they  disagreed  upon  an 
important  bill  and  locked  horns.  They  argued,  but  could 
not  agree,  and  finally,  as  the  only  way  to  reach  a  decision, 
they  said  they  would  let  the  clerk  vote.  Mr.  White  sided 
with  the  chairman,  whose  report  thus  became  the  majority 
report  of  the  committee;  but  Mr.  Hittell  was  dissatisfied, 
and  said  he  should  file  a  minority  report,  to  which  Senator 
Nye  readily  assented.  But  next  morning  the  historian  pre- 
sented his  report  to  the  other  eight  members  of  the  com- 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  31 

mittee  and  persuaded  them  to  join  with  him  in  signing  it. 
So,  when  Senator  Nye  presented  to  the  Senate  the  "majority 
report"  of  the  committee,  signed  only  by  himself,  it  was 
immediately  followed  by  the  "minority  report,"  signed  by 
nine  members.  There  was  great  hilarity  among  the  Sena- 
tors, but  it  did  not  in  the  least  disturb  the  usual  composure 
of  the  chairman;  he  declared  that  his  remained  the  majority 
report,  and  that  as  such  it  should  enjoy  full  rights  of  par- 
liamentary precedence. 

In  attempting  to  deal  with  the  side  of  this  remarkable 
man's  character  which  more  than  any  other,  probably,  im- 
pressed his  nearest  friends — I  refer  to  his  absolute,  unde- 
viating  integrity — it  is  difficult  to  give  the  exact  conception 
intended.  Many  men  are  honest  in  many  different  ways, 
and  nearly  every  man  is  honest  in  at  least  some  one  way, 
however  deficient  in  integrity  in  other  respects.  But  the  man 
or  woman  who  is  literally  honest  in  all  ways  is  rare  indeed. 
Judge  Nye  was  one  of  these  extraordinary  persons.  Mr. 
Richardson,  his  old  partner,  made  a  fine  distinction  when 
he  said :  "Some  men  would  not  do  a  dishonest  thing;  Judge 
Nye  could  not  do  a  dishonest  thing.  His  integrity  was  as 
much  a  part  of  him  as  his  body  was."  It  was  not  in  his 
nature  to  consider  more  than  one  possible  way  of  doing  a 
thing,  and  that  was  the  simple,  straightforward  one.  Pe- 
cuniary temptation,  in  the  form  of  doubtful  gain,  did  not 
appeal  to  him  merely  because  he  never  regarded  it  as  a 
possibility  for  him. 

As  he  approached  the  end  of  his  seventieth  year  Judge 
Nye  decided  definitely  that  he  would  at  last  carry  out  his 
long-cherished  plan  of  giving  up  business  and  retiring  from 


32       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

the  city  to  the  country.  His  farming  enterprises  had  pros- 
pered even  in  his  absence,  and  he  believed  that  rural  enjoy- 
ments would  add  not  only  to  his  happiness,  but  to  his  span 
of  life.  But,  as  events  proved,  he  had  waited  too  long,  and 
his  health  had  been  fatally  impaired  before  he  took  the 
final  step. 

On  June  i,  1904,  he  retired  from  practice  and  closed  his 
office  door  to  clients,  but  remained  at  his  post  several 
months,  closing  up  various  matters  of  private  trust.  By 
October  ist  he  was  ready  to  leave  town  for  his  vineyard, 
but  with  characteristic  regard  for  duty,  he  waited  more 
than  a  month  in  order  that  he  might  cast  a  vote  for  The- 
odore Roosevelt  for  President.  As  soon  as  it  became 
known  that  his  active  professional  life  had  closed,  the  Bar 
Association  tendered  him  a  banquet,  but  Judge  Nye,  with 
his  natural  aversion  to  being  lionized,  declined  the  honor. 
Social  entertainments  were  showered  upon  him  and  his 
family  by  their  friends,  not  only  in  Oakland,  but  in  adjoin- 
ing towns. 

His  new  home  was  on  the  Fowler  ranch,  where  there 
had  been  reserved  a  choice  building  site  on  a  hill  overlook- 
ing a  fine  landscape.  A  pleasant  country  house  was 
built,  and  water  and  lighting  plants  installed.  Fine  shade 
trees  and  shrubbery  had  been  established  long  before,  and 
avenues  of  eucalyptus  planted;  so  that  when  the  family 
entered  the  new  home  it  was  a  little  country  paradise.  From 
the  house,  Judge  Nye  could  overlook  his  more  than  two 
hundred  acres  of  vineyards,  peach  and  fig  orchards  and 
alfalfa  and  grain  fields.  For  a  brief  time  the  happiness  of 
the  retired  jurist  in  his  new  surroundings  was  extreme.  His 


ON  THE  VERANDA  AT  FOWLER 


OF  STEPHEN  G.  NYE  33 

enjoyment  was  intense  when  the  mocking-birds,  orioles  and 
goldfinches  made  merry  in  his  trees  and  the  meadow-larks 
sang  in  the  fields  just  beyond. 

The  household  at  this  time  included,  besides  Judge 
and  Mrs.  Nye,  their  daughter  Harriet.  The  elder  daugh- 
ter, Myrtle,  had  been  married  in  1892,  in  Oakland,  to  Mr. 
Thomas  H.  Davis.  In  June,  1905,  Harriet  Nye  was  mar- 
ried to  Mr.  Philip  W.  Davis,  a  brother  of  the  husband  of 
the  older  sister.  The  newly  married  couple  made  their 
home  in  Visalia,  where  P.  W.  Davis  was  engaged  in  busi- 
ness, while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  T.  H.  Davis  lived  on  the  Antelope 
ranch. 

But  the  end  of  the  life  of  the  just  man  was  fast 
approaching.  In  May,  1905,  he  suffered  a  stroke  of  par- 
alysis, from  which  he  recovered  only  partially ;  he  was  com- 
pelled to  forego  his  usual  activities,  and  his  merry  quips 
and  joyous  laugh  were  missed;  but  he  still  sat  upon  the 
porch  of  the  house  and  listened  to  the  birds  singing  in  the 
trees,  and  almost  daily  he  took  a  short  drive.  Once  he 
visited  a  health  resort  and  came  back  somewhat  improved. 
In  March,  1906,  he  went  to  visit  his  daughter  at  Antelope 
ranch,  and  while  there  his  last  and  fatal  illness  overtook 
him.  He  lingered  only  five  days  after  suffering  an  apo- 
plectic stroke,  and  passed  away  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  morn- 
ing of  April  second. 

On  the  fifth  of  April  there  was  a  private  funeral  service 
held  at  the  residence  of  his  daughter,  Mrs.  P.  W.  Davis,  in 
Visalia,  Dr.  D.  A.  Mobley,  of  Fowler,  officiating,  and  using 
as  the  text  for  his  brief  remarks  the  words,  "Know  ye  not 


34       BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CHARACTER  SKETCH 

that  there  is  a  prince  and  a  great  man  fallen  this  day  in 
Israel?" 

The  body  was  taken  for  burial  to  Oakland,  and  there 
a  more  public  funeral  was  held  in  the  First  Presbyterian 
Church  on  the  seventh.  Dr.  E.  E.  Baker,  the  pastor  and 
friend,  gave  an  appropriate  eulogy,  and  the  choir  sang 
"Lead,  Kindly  Light,"  which  had  been  Judge  Nye's  favorite 
hymn,  and  "Good  Night,  Take  Thy  Rest."  A  large  con- 
course of  friends  and  members  of  the  bar  attended  the  ser- 
vice. Judge  S.  P.  Hall,  J.  B.  Richardson,  Dr.  V.  E. 
Putnam,  George  Payne,  L.  C.  Morehouse  and  Dudley 
Kinsell  acted  as  pall-bearers.  The  remains  were  laid  to  rest 
in  a  beautiful  spot  in  Mountain  View  Cemetery. 

The  day  before  the  Alameda  Bar  Association  had  held 
a  special  meeting,  presided  over  by  Judge  Ellsworth.  The 
usual  testimonial  of  respect  in  the  form  of  resolutions  was 
offered  and  remarks  evidencing  the  high  regard  in  which 
Judge  Nye  was  held  were  made  by  several  of  the  Superior 
Court  judges  and  by  a  number  of  the  members  of  the  bar. 


tributes  to  Stephen  <&, 


3  antes  Mt.  O  bob 


!&.  (Treswell  of  Tennessee 

(Tountv 


Stephen  <&, 


Allegheny  College  is  an  institution  established  in  the 
year  1815  at  the  town  of  Meadville  in  Western  Pennsyl- 
vania, and  having  a  record  of  good  work  done  in  the  course 
of  its  successful  career.  Many  worthy  men  have  sought 
instruction  in  its  halls,  prominent  among  whom  may  be 
mentioned  the  name  of  William  McKinley.  It  was  my 
good  fortune  to  become  a  student  in  this  institution  about 
the  middle  of  the  century  which  has  recently  closed,  where 
still  at  the  early  age  of  fifteen  I  began  to  prepare  for  active 
life,  and  to  assume  the  management  of  my  own  affairs.  I 
found  the  college  to  be  a  little  world  in  itself.  Each 
student  seemed  to  be  an  important  factor  in  this  world, 
and  I  scrutinized  both  the  face  and  the  conduct  of  each  as  I 
formed  my  most  intimate  acquaintanceships  among  them. 
The  attachments  thus  formed  in  early  youth  have  proved 
very  strong  and  are  unbroken  still. 

Unfortunately  I  was  obliged  to  leave  the  college  at  the 
close  of  my  second  year,  and  was  unable  to  return  for  two 
long  years.  When  I  returned  in  September,  1855,  I,  of 
course,  found  that  a  great  change  had  passed  over  the 
students  in  attendance.  A  majority  of  them  were  strangers 
to  me,  and  of  those  I  did  know,  very  few  belonged  to  the 
circle  in  which  I  had  formerly  moved.  My  new  classmates 
were  nearly  all  strangers,  and  among  the  members  of  other 


38       TRIBUTE  TO  STEPHEN  G.  NYE 

classes  I  picked  out  friends  more  cautiously  than  I  would 
have  done  when  two  years  younger.  At  that  early  date, 
before  the  era  of  college  fraternities,  the  choice  of  friends 
at  college  was  a  task  which  the  better  class  of  young  men 
did  not  regard  lightly,  and  when  attachments  were  once 
formed,  they  were  apt  to  last  as  long  as  life  itself.  Many 
long  and  eventful  years  have  passed  since  that  far-off  day, 
but  some  of  the  bonds  of  personal  friendship  then  formed 
remain  as  real  and  as  firm  as  they  were  fifty-three  years  ago. 
Memory  ever  and  anon  goes  wandering  back  to  those  good 
old  days,  and  lingers  long  in  recalling  times  and  scenes 
and  associations  which  the  years  can  not  steal  from  us,  and 
which  seem  to  become  more  delightful  and  precious  as  Time 
relentlessly  goes  marching  on  his  way. 

Prominent  among  those  whom  I  learned  to  love  and 
appreciate  in  those  olden  days  was  Stephen  G.  Nye,  of 
Western  New  York.  He  was  a  little  older  than  myself, 
and  unlike  me  in  some  of  his  tastes,  and  our  outlook  in  life 
was  along  different  lines,  but  as  often  happens  in  the  making 
of  intimate  personal  friendships,  our  very  difference  in  tem- 
perament and  in  personal  tastes  seemed  to  draw  us  more 
closely  together,  and  we  formed  a  mutual  attachment  which 
time  never  lessened  and  world-wide  space  never  weakened. 
We  parted  on  June  25,  1857,  and  did  not  meet  again  until 
June,  1892. 

In  olden  days  it  was  a  frequent  practice  to  give  im- 
provised names  to  students,  usually  such  as  trivial  events 
might  suggest.  One  day  a  large  company  of  students  was 
standing  on  the  college  green  and  engaged  in  animated 
conversation,  when  something  led  Nye  to  tell  the  story  of 


BISHOP  JAMES  M.  THOBURN  39 

the  Persian  ambassador  who  asked  the  King  of  Sparta  why 
his  city  had  no  walls.  In  reply  the  Spartan  led  the  am- 
bassador out  to  his  parade  ground  and  pointed  to  his  soldiers 
drawn  up  in  battle  array.  "There,"  said  the  king,  "there 
are  the  walls  of  Sparta,  and  every  man  is  a  brick."  The 
story  was  well  told  and  very  well  received,  and  some  re- 
mark connected  with  it,  I  have  forgotten  what,  led  some  one 
to  suggest  the  name  as  applicable  to  Nye  himself.  In  a 
moment  it  became  his  permanent  surname,  to  which  now 
and  then  with  affectionate  freedom  they  added  the  word 
"old,"  and  as  "Old  Brick,"  S.  G.  Nye  is  still  remembered 
by  some  of  the  "boys"  who  now  and  then  are  permitted  to 
meet  on  the  campus  of  Allegheny  College.  He  and  I  were 
never  permitted  to  meet  on  that  old  campus  again,  and  our 
paths  in  life  led  us  very  far  apart,  but  the  attachment  which 
grew  up  between  us  in  those  far-off  days  was  never  broken 
and  never  weakened  by  the  lapse  of  years. 

My  dear  friend  Nye  was  a  "manly"  man.  There  was 
nothing  mean,  nothing  little,  nothing  selfish  in  his  character 
or  life.  He  recognized  sincerity  at  its  full  value,  and 
esteemed  it  as  one  of  the  chief  elements  in  character.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  was  impatient  with  every  appearance  or 
even  suspicion  of  insincerity.  He  did  not  hold  connection 
with  any  church,  and  yet  among  his  most  intimate  friends 
were  some  of  the  most  active  Christian  workers  in  the 
college.  He  seemed  to  recognize  a  clear,  distinct,  and  per- 
fectly straight  line  of  right  which  ran  through  the  immediate 
world  in  which  he  lived  and  moved,  and  he  rejected  with 
utter  scorn  every  plan,  purpose  or  policy  which  lay  on  the 
wrong  side  of  that  line. 


40       TRIBUTE  TO  STEPHEN  G.  NYE 

My  dear  friend  was  a  man  of  generous  impulses,  one 
filled  with  a  kindly  feeling  toward  others,  and  to  whom  the 
word  friendship  meant  more  than  a  mere  expression  of  good 
feeling.  He  had  not  been  long  in  college  until  he  had 
drawn  around  him  a  large  number  of  devoted  friends,  and  it 
was  noted  that  these  represented  all  the  college  classes,  and 
all  ages  and  social  groups.  He  was  a  respecter  of  character 
but  not  of  person.  For  the  vile  and  vicious  he  had  no 
respect  whatever;  for  the  poor  and  aspiring  youth  who  was 
nobly  striving  to  win  an  education  and  open  a  pathway 
for  himself  in  life,  he  was  ever  ready  to  hold  out  the  right 
hand  of  social  fellowship,  and  speak  a  word  of  fraternal 
cheer  and  encouragement. 

I  left  Allegheny  College  on  the  evening  of  June  24, 
1857,  in  company  with  eight  other  students.  In  those  far- 
off  days  we  traveled  by  the  old-fashioned  stage-coach,  and 
when  we  reached  the  crest  of  the  hill  south  of  the  town,  we 
were  able  to  call  a  halt  and  take  a  farewell  look  at  the 
town  and  college,  with  its  endeared  environment.  A 
strange  feeling  came  over  me  as  I  looked  at  the  scene — 
something  like  a  premonition  that  while  all  were  leaving 
the  familiar  scenes  before  me,  I  among  them  all  was  going 
very  far  away.  And  so  it  proved.  In  less  than  two  years 
I  sailed  from  Boston  for  Calcutta  to  enter  upon  the  life  of 
a  missionary  to  the  people  of  India,  and  when  the  second 
anniversary  of  my  graduation  came  around,  it  found  me  far 
down  in  the  South  Atlantic,  enduring  the  rigors  of  a  South 
Atlantic  winter.  In  due  time  I  reached  Calcutta  and  pro- 
ceeded to  my  station,  a  thousand  or  more  miles  north  of 
that  city.  I  was  truly  far  away. 


BISHOP  JAMES  M.  THOBURN  41 

The  years  passed  by;  one  change  followed  another; 
the  cares  of  life,  the  burdens  of  responsibility,  the  weariness 
of  toil,  the  pressure  of  care,  the  chastening  of  sorrow — all 
these  left  their  impress  on  me,  perhaps  more  than  I  myself 
suspected.  The  year  1892  came  around,  and  in  the 
providence  of  God  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  make  a  brief  visit  to 
the  Pacific  Coast.  One  bright  Sabbath  morning  I  had  an 
appointment  to  preach  in  a  San  Francisco  church,  and  while 
waiting  in  the  vestry  I  was  surprised  and  startled  to  receive 
a  card  with  the  inscription,  "S.  G.  Nye,  alias  Brick."  To 
say  that  I  was  startled  would  be  to  state  the  case  very 
mildly.  I  rushed  out  and  found  my  dear  friend  of  other 
days  waiting  to  greet  me  at  the  door.  We  had  a  joyous 
meeting,  and  both  were  deeply  moved.  The  time  for  be- 
ginning the  service  had  arrived,  and  while  I  proceeded  to 
the  pulpit,  my  friend  was  given  a  seat  well  to  the  front. 
Glancing  down  I  noticed  that  by  chance  he  had  been  put 
in  the  same  pew  with  my  wife,  and  I  at  once  went  down 
and  informed  him  of  the  fact  and  asked  him  to  introduce 
himself  to  her  at  the  close  of  the  service,  which  he  was  only 
too  glad  to  do.  I  was  hurried  away,  but  not  until  I  had 
made  an  engagement  to  meet  him  again  the  following  even- 
ing and  spend  the  night  with  him  and  his  family.  I  ac- 
cordingly did  so,  and  I  need  not  say  that  the  evening  has 
been  memorable  among  all  the  evenings  and  mornings  of 
my  somewhat  eventful  life. 

Stephen  G.  Nye  was  a  man  of  progressive  ideas  and 
liberal  principles.  It  was  easy  for  any  one  who  knew  him 
to  tell  in  advance  what  side  of  a  question  he  would  take, 
what  course  he  would  pursue  in  a  given  emergency,  and 


42       TRIBUTE  TO  STEPHEN  G.  NYE 

what  view  he  would  adopt  when  a  question  of  principle 
was  at  stake.  He  was  a  man  of  action.  He  knew  the 
value  of  time  when  important  issues  were  at  stake,  and  was 
never  tempted  to  court  weakness  by  yielding  to  temptation 
to  postpone  action  when  delay  involved  weakness  or  loss. 
My  dear  friend  was  a  life-long  sufferer  from  a  physical 
disability  which  in  the  case  of  many  men  would  inevitably 
have  depressed  the  spirits,  if  not  indeed  impaired  the  temper 
and  finer  feelings  of  the  sufferer,  but  in  his  case  it  seemed 
to  produce  no  adverse  effect  of  any  kind.  He  was  cheerful, 
hopeful,  and  even  buoyant  in  his  temperament,  and  seldom 
failed  to  inspire  every  circle  in  which  he  chanced  to  join 
with  his  own  irrepressible  spirit  of  good  cheer.  He  took 
hopeful  views  of  life,  believed  in  the  progress  of  society, 
and  always  kept  step  with  the  advanced  leaders  of  thought 
and  action.  He  was  not  tempted  to  despair  of  humanity, 
and  in  his  public  life  allied  himself  with  those  elements  in 
society  which  gave  best  promise  of  reform  and  progress. 

During  my  last  interview  with  my  friend,  I  was  led 
to  ask  him  why  he  had  never  entered  the  political  field.  He 
possessed  many  of  the  qualities  which  would  have  insured 
his  success  had  he  done  so,  and  his  temperament  would  have 
seemed  likely  to  draw  him  in  that  direction,  but  only  once 
had  he,  even  for  a  time,  consented  to  yield  to  solicitations 
to  venture  a  step  in  that  direction.  Politics  had  few  attrac- 
tions for  him.  On  a  higher  plane,  with  fewer  personal 
interests  involved  and  more  lofty  issues  at  stake,  the  result 
might  have  been  different;  but  as  public  life  was  then 
viewed,  political  questions  being  confounded  with  partizan 
interests,  my  good  friend  did  not  feel  inclined  to  enter  upon 


BISHOP  JAMES  M.  THOBURN  43 

a  career  which  gave  assurance  of  much  turmoil  and  vexation 
and  little  promise  of  success  in  any  practical  sense  of  that 
term.  I  did  not  feel  sure  that  he  had  decided  wisely,  for 
the  public  needed,  and  still  needs,  men  of  his  character  all 
the  more  for  the  very  reason  that  the  political  world  is 
more  or  less  corrupt  and  politicians  prone  to  be  governed 
by  wrong  ideals.  But  he  had  not  been  able  to  take  that 
view  of  his  personal  duty,  partly  for  the  reason  assigned  by 
him,  and  partly  perhaps  because  he  did  not  sufficiently 
appreciate  his  own  ability  to  become  a  leader  of  men.  He 
could  hardly  have  failed  to  achieve  success  had  he  made 
the  political  world  the  sphere  of  his  life-work,  and  in  these 
days  when  men  of  principle  are  in  so  great  demand  to  man- 
age our  public  affairs,  men  of  our  dear  friend's  class  can 
hardly  be  spared  from  the  service  of  the  public. 

The  discipline  of  life  is  a  subject  which  receives  less 
attention  than  it  merits.  The  poet  has  said,  speaking  of 
God's  discipline,  "Afflictions  all  his  people  feel."  These 
afflictions  come  in  a  thousand  forms  and  are  often  veiled  in 
strange  mystery.  They  do  not  by  any  means  seem  to  be 
distributed  with  an  impartial  hand,  and  yet  how  do  we 
know?  "We  know  only  in  part"  as  yet.  If  we  could 
choose  our  own  blessings,  we  would  no  doubt  make  many 
sad  mistakes,  and  it  is  well  for  us  all  that  this  power  has 
not  been  placed  in  our  own  hands.  Our  dear  friend  be- 
longed to  the  great  multitude  of  those  who  know  what  it  is 
to  endure  affliction,  but  his  sore  trial  never  produced  either 
bitterness  or  sourness  in  his  character.  "I  am  of  no  account, 
anyhow,"  he  once  said  to  me,  "but  if  there  is  any  good  in 
me,  or  if  I  succeed  in  doing  anything  in  life,  I  shall  owe  it 


44       TRIBUTE  TO  STEPHEN  G.  NYE 

in  a  large  measure  to  the  fact  that  I  have  been  disabled  so 
as  not  to  be  able  to  engage  in  an  active  life."  His  theory 
seemed  to  be  that  his  affliction  had  been  to  him  what  an 
anchor  is  to  a  full-rigged  ship — a  means  of  keeping  it  from 
going  adrift  in  dangerous  seas.  He  believed  in  a  God  of 
providence,  a  God  who 

"Guides  the   zephyr  and  the   storm, 
Who  rules  the  seraph  and  the  worm." 

Hence  he  was  cheerful  and  hopeful,  accepted  life  with  the 
limitations  which  God  had  placed  upon  it  in  his  case,  and 
succeeded  in  achieving  a  successful  career,  without  wasting 
an  hour  in  vain  repining,  or  casting  a  gloomy  shadow  on 
the  pathway  of  those  who  were  his  companions  in  life. 
Happy  would  our  world  be  if  all  upon  whom  the  hand  of 
affliction  is  laid  could  exhibit  so  much  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
sage  and  the  submission  of  the  Christian.  Patient  endur- 
ance is  one  of  the  chief  virtues  of  an  enlightened  Christian 
life,  and  the  quiet  sufferer  who  illustrates  its  power  in  prac- 
tical life  makes  his  career  a  lesson  to  all  who  meet  him  and 
a  blessing  to  his  race.  In  the  days  of  our  intimate  acquaint- 
ance, when  the  hope  and  ambition  of  youth  were  still  active 
and  potent,  no  one  ever  heard  him  complain  of  his  lot,  or 
lament  that  he  could  not  contend  on  equal  terms  with  those 
whom  he  met  in  the  great  arena  of  life. 

It  is  encouraging  and  inspiring  in  our  hurried  age  of 
bustle  and  strife  to  witness  the  career  of  a  man  of  the  type 
of  Stephen  G.  Nye.  Truly,  on  the  broad  stage  of  human 
life  the  race  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle  to  the  strong. 
The  man  of  courage  can  win  in  life's  battle  if  he  keeps  true 


BISHOP  JAMES  M.  THOBURN  45 

to  principle,  and  the  man  of  patient  industry  can  build 
his  life  into  a  structure  which  will  endure  and  be  admired  of 
men  long  after  the  man  himself  has  vanished  from  the  stage 
of  human  action.  Such  has  been  the  achievement  of  the 
dear  friend  whose  memory  we  commemorate.  He  has  left 
behind  him  the  record  of  a  noble  life — a  record  which  will 
not  perish.  He  will  be  long  remembered,  and  in  the 
language  of  the  inspired  writer  of  old,  "his  memory  will  be 
as  ointment  poured  forth." 


of 


Stephen 


.  3ol)it  3&.  (Treswell  of  Tennessee 

3ttember  of  ty*  ~partv  witb  Wl)om  3u6<j«.  3ty<t  an&  Tamil  j  75raveU6 

Orient 


It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  have  the  privilege  of  paying 
a  tribute  to  the  memory  of  my  friend  of  Oakland,  Cali- 
fornia, a  leading  and  noble  American  citizen.  It  was  on 
the  memorable  tour  of  1901  through  the  Orient  that  I 
became  acquainted  with  Judge  Nye.  The  associations  and 
the  friendships  of  the  tour  added  much  to  the  pleasure  of 
the  journey.  The  time  of  the  sojourn  together  was  limited 
to  less  than  four  months,  but  the  tests  of  knowledge,  tem- 
per, strength,  and  character  were  strong. 

Judge  Nye,  as  he  was  familiarly  called  by  the  party, 
was  a  fine-looking,  plain-spoken  man,  a  little  abrupt  in  gen- 
eral manner,  but  in  temperament  he  had  learned  in  the 
school  of  experience  to  balance  well  his  feelings  with  his 
judgment.  All  the  necessary  hardships  and  disagreeable 
phases  of  the  tour,  which  were  many,  he  met  in  a 
good-humored  way,  without  complaining.  He  was  ever 
ready  to  do  or  to  endure  his  part  in  every  way.  In 
all  my  associations  with  Judge  Nye  on  the  long  jour- 
ney, I  found  him  to  be  a  most  unselfish,  deeply  sym- 
pathetic man,  ready  to  yield  his  own  comforts  for  the  sake 
of  others.  He  was  a  very  companionable  traveler. 


REV.  JOHN  B.  CRESWELL  47 

In  every  country  through  which  we  passed,  Judge  Nye 
noted  with  care  the  geographical,  geological,  agricul- 
tural, governmental,  and  historical  interests  of  the  country, 
and  also  the  social  conditions  of  the  people.  He  was  also 
a  very  close  student  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  looking  out 
for  the  varieties  of  grasses,  trees,  and  fruits  and  comparing 
these  with  the  grasses,  trees,  and  fruits  of  similar  climate 
in  the  western  world.  He  was  of  an  inquiring  turn  of  mind, 
seeking  knowledge  wherever  it  could  be  found.  No  one  in 
the  party  realized  better  than  he  the  limitations  of  the 
human  mind,  but  his  mind  was  well  stored,  his  knowledge 
well  classified,  his  judgment  clear,  and  his  reasoning  sound. 

To  him,  in  viewing  the  monumental  ruins  of  antiquity, 
there  appeared  an  emptiness  to  the  worldly  conception  of 
human  greatness  that  seemed  ridiculous.  One  of  the  little 
incidents,  illustrating  this,  which  I  remember  quite  well, 
was  on  the  Elephantine  Island  near  Assouan,  Egypt.  While 
viewing  the  ruins  of  the  once  great  city  and  temple,  we  were 
suddenly  brought  in  front  of  a  red  granite  statue  of  Ram- 
eses  II,  standing  in  majestic  silence  and  loneliness,  amid 
desolation,  in  the  humble  use  of  a  chicken  roost.  The  Judge 
looked  upon  the  gigantic  statue,  in  its  lowly  use,  once  repre- 
senting the  glory  of  the  man  in  power  as  the  ruler  of  a 
great  nation,  and  seeing  the  tremendous  come-down,  re- 
marked with  a  significant  air  and  tone  of  voice,  "Such  is 
human  greatness."  In  the  shadow  of  the  Coliseum  at  Rome 
a  little  street  beggar  appealed  to  him  for  a  gift.  The  Judge 
looked  a  moment  at  the  boy,  and  then  turned  loose  the 
speech  of  Catiline  in  the  boy's  own  tongue,  with  the  dignity 
of  a  judge  and  the  eloquence  of  an  orator.  The  little  boy 


48  TRIBUTE  TO   STEPHEN   G.   NYE 

looked  a  moment  at  the  venerable  orator,  and  turned  away 
in  wonder.  The  Judge  enjoyed  the  joke  on  the  boy. 

Another  one  of  the  strongly  marked  characteristics  of 
the  Judge,  as  I  knew  him,  was  his  deep  sense  and  love  of  jus- 
tice. He  believed  in  the  "square  deal."  To  him,  justice 
administered  in  the  common  deals  of  life,  was  akin  to  the 
eternal  justice  of  the  great  Sovereign  Ruler  of  the  universe, 
in  whom  he  believed. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  visiting  Judge  Nye  in  his  home  in 
Oakland,  California,  and  found  him  the  same  cordial 
friend  in  his  home  that  I  found  him  on  the  tour  through  the 
Orient.  To  me,  the  knowledge  of  his  honorable  career,  and 
upright  life  is  a  benediction.  Even  his  memory  is  a 
benediction. 

His  venerable  appearance,  the  knowledge  of  his  well- 
equipped  mind,  and  the  belief  concerning  his  evident 
struggle  through  great  difficulties  to  reach  the  goal,  with 
untarnished  name,  and  leave  behind  a  record  clean,  appeal 
to  me  in  pathos  and  beauty. 


of  tt)e  ^Vlame6a  Count? 
Association 


A  meeting  of  the  bench  and  bar  of  Alameda  County 
was  called  for  the  purpose  of  adopting  resolutions  in  mem- 
ory of  the  death  of  Stephen  G.  Nye.  The  meeting  was  held 
in  the  court  room  of  Department  One  of  the  Superior  Court, 
April  6,  1906.  All  of  the  five  judges  were  present  and 
also  there  was  a  large  representation  of  the  bar  of  Alameda 
County.  His  Honor  Judge  Waste,  in  whose  court  room 
the  meeting  was  held,  presided. 

The  president  of  the  Bar  Association  presented  a  copy 
of  the  resolutions  which  had  been  prepared  by  the  committee 
appointed  for  that  purpose,  and  asked  that  it  be  spread  upon 
the  minutes  of  the  court.  Judge  Waste  announced  that  such 
an  order  would  be  made  and  that  Judge  Melvin  had  been 
selected  to  speak  on  behalf  of  the  bench. 

Judge  Melvin  said  in  substance  that  he  had  known 
Judge  Nye  ever  since  he  himself  had  been  admitted  to  prac- 
tice in  this  State,  and  that  he  had  always  felt  toward  him 
the  respect  that  a  younger  lawyer  should  feel  toward  his 
superior,  and  testified  to  his  regard  for  him  personally  and 
to  his  knowledge  of  Judge  Nye's  ability  and  honesty  as  a 
lawyer.  He  emphasized  the  quality  of  humor  which  Judge 
Nye  possessed  in  such  an  unusual  degree,  and  recalled  an 
afternoon  in  court  when  a  case  was  delayed  because  the 
parties  interested  were  waiting  for  a  jury  to  be  dismissed  in 
another  department  to  sit  in  Judge  Greene's  court  room. 


50  TRIBUTE  TO   STEPHEN   G.   NYE 

Judge  Nye  and  Judge  Greene  were  reciting  their  early 
reminiscences  of  the  bar  of  the  State  and  county  and  giving 
a  very  interesting  recital  of  their  earlier  days.  Judge  Mel- 
vin  stated  that  he  never  passed  a  more  interesting  hour  or 
learned  so  much  of  some  of  the  characteristics  of  former 
practitioners  and  court  methods  as  he  did  in  the  hour  that  he 
was  listening  to  those  two  men,  both  of  whom  have 
now  gone. 

Judge  Waste  then  said  that  he  would  call  upon  the 
oldest  member  of  the  bar  of  Alameda  County  to  speak  on 
behalf  of  the  members  of  the  bar  of  this  county.  Mr.  Glas- 
cock  spoke  as  follows : 

"Your  Honors  and  Fellow  Members  of  the  Bar:  To 
the  unbeliever  in  a  personal  immortality  death  is  always 
horrible.  The  passing  of  the  spirit,  the  severance  of  earthly 
ties,  the  journey  into  the  unknown,  is  always  fraught  with 
terror.  It  carries  with  it  the  greatest  mystery  the  finite  mind 
is  called  upon  to  confront.  It  is  the  supreme  tragedy. 
Whither  has  the  soul  gone?  Has  it  passed  into  the  passion- 
less Absolute  of  Brahma?  Has  it  been  resolved  into  that 
great  mass  of  organized  life  and  activity,  the  all  and  all  to 
the  pantheist?  Has  it  been  wiped  out  (as  if  it  never  had 
been)  with  the  materialist?  Must  we  with  the  agnostic 
admit  simply  existence  here,  and  wrap  the  future  in  the 
folds  of  the  Unknowable? 

"To  the  believer  these  are  but  cold  abstractions  freez- 
ing the  very  marrow  of  the  human  conception  of  the  warm, 
living,  concrete  thing  we  call  life — life  with  its  boundless 
capacities  for  growth,  its  subtle  intuitions  and  high  aspira- 
tions ;  life,  that,  untrammelled  of  finite  reason,  feels  within 


ALAMEDA   COUNTY   BAR  ASSOCIATION         51 

itself  the  seed  of  futurity.  There  is  no  death.  We  sleep, 
only  to  wake  to  a  new  and  brighter  day.  I  hope  and  believe 
that  when  I  shall  have  crossed  the  Great  Divide  I  shall  clasp 
hands  with  Stephen  G.  Nye,  shall  hear  again  his  ringing 
laugh,  and  see  in  him  the  deeper  and  broader  unfolding  of  a 
life  turned  and  fashioned  by  the  hand  of  an  all-wise  and 
loving  God. 

"I  am  minded  of  the  human  inclination  to  speak  only 
good  of  those  gone  before.  But  here  inclination  and  duty 
are  one.  After  a  friendship  of  nearly  forty  years  with 
Judge  Nye,  I  can  safely  say  that  the  man  has  yet  to  be 
found  who  can  point  to  a  stain  upon  his  judicial  ermine  or 
a  blot  on  his  character  as  a  husband,  father,  citizen,  lawyer 
or  man.  Not  that  he  was  perfect;  no  one  is,  and  he  would 
not  have  been  the  lovable  man  he  was  had  he  been  so.  But 
he  was  so  sane  and  healthy,  morally  and  mentally,  that  all 
who  knew  him  are  the  better  for  his  having  lived.  There 
was  a  noble  simplicity  about  our  friend,  a  transparent  hon- 
esty of  purpose,  a  clearness  of  moral  perception,  and  clear- 
ness of  action  that  spoke  as  with  the  tongues  of  angels. 
Broad  and  catholic  in  his  views,  abreast  of  the  times  in  his 
professional  and  civic  life,  tenaciously  faithful  to  interests 
confided  to  his  care  at  the  expense,  too  often,  of  his  own 
pocket,  while  sternly  obedient  to  duty  as  he  saw  it,  there 
was  a  purely  human  side  to  his  character  that  made  him 
the  most  lovable  of  men.  He  was  a  genial,  jovial,  hearty 
man  who  enjoyed  and  told  a  good  story;  an  optimist  whose 
eye  always  found  the  silver  lining  of  the  cloud,  whose  laugh 
was  always  cheering  and  whose  hand-clasp  was  always  firm 
and  honest.  There  was  in  him  a  large  kindliness,  and  a 


52       TRIBUTE  TO  STEPHEN  G.  NYE 

gentle  tenderness  that  made  him  unwilling  to  witness  the 
pain  that  even  duty  called  upon  him  to  inflict.  I  never  saw 
him  sentence  a  criminal  without  turning  his  head  away 
when  he  did  so. 

"All  in  all,  he  was  a  man  to  be  honored,  trusted,  and 
loved,  and  the  character  that  he  builded  has  become  an  im- 
perishable monument  on  the  road  of  high  effort.  In  the  final 
analysis,  character  alone  counts.  We  may  amass  riches; 
they  will  be  taken  away  on  the  wings  of  fire.  We  may  attain 
fame;  it  is  but  a  bubble  that  passes  away  in  froth.  But 
character  abideth  always.  It  is  the  one  thing  that  even  God 
will  not,  perhaps  can  not,  destroy — the  sole  human  force 
that  strikes  the  farthest  shore  of  eternity. 

"Old  friend,  true-hearted  gentleman,  splendid  man, 
hail,  and,  as  earth  counts  time,  farewell !  You  have  showed 
us  the  way  of  life  and  of  passing.  When  the  troubled 
waters  shall  close  round  us,  may  we,  with  as  little  cause  of 
fear,  meet  our  'Pilot  face  to  face  beyond  the  bar.' ' 

Judge  Waste  said  that  he  would  call  upon  another 
member  of  the  bar  who  had  been  associated  with  Judge 
Nye  for  a  long  time,  and  called  upon  Mr.  Richardson,  who 
spoke  as  follows: 

"If  your  Honors  please :  Judge  Waste  has  said  that  I 
knew  Judge  Nye  well  because  of  long  association  with  him. 
That  is  true,  but  it  was  not  necessary  to  know  Judge  Nye 
a  long  time  to  know  him  well;  a  ten  days'  acquaintance 
with  him  would  enable  one  to  know  him  almost  as  well  as 
an  acquaintance  of  ten  years,  and  this  because  Judge  Nye 
had  nothing  to  conceal;  his  nature  was  so  open  that  you 
were  taken  at  once  into  his  confidence.  I  think  I  never  knew 


ALAMEDA   COUNTY   BAR  ASSOCIATION         53 

a  man  who  was  so  frank.  His  nature  was  not  two-sided. 
It  was  always  his  habit  of  mind  to  look  at  both  sides  of  any 
question  presented  to  him;  in  his  arguments  before  any  of 
your  Honors,  if  there  was  a  case  opposed  to  the  view  for 
which  he  contended,  he  presented  that  with  the  authorities 
upon  which  he  relied  to  sustain  his  own  position. 

"Since  I  first  learned  that  he  was  critically  ill,  I  have 
several  times  asked  myself  the  question,  What  was  the  most 
striking  trait  in  Judge  Nye's  character?  And  I  can  not  be 
sure  whether  it  was  his  absolute  honesty,  or  his  devotion  to 
the  interests  of  his  client. 

"The  question  of  compensation  for  services  never 
seemed  to  enter  into  his  calculations;  he  was  ever  ready  to 
respond  to  the  call  of  the  weak,  or  the  poor,  or  the  dis- 
tressed. The  resolutions  speak  of  his  knightly  qualities. 
If  Judge  Nye  had  lived  in  the  age  of  chivalry,  he,  doubtless, 
would  have  taken  upon  himself  the  vows  of  knighthood, 
and  he  was  no  less  a  knight  because  he  served  in  these 
modern,  practical  days.  The  same  qualities  that  prompted 
the  knight  of  old  to  go  forth  in  armor  for  the  relief  of  the 
weak  and  distressed  prompted  him  to  go  to  the  relief  of  the 
unfortunate,  and  to  set  them  on  their  feet  again  and  bid 
them  God-speed  on  their  way.  I  do  not  think  it  is  too 
much  to  say  that  there  are  scores  of  small  homes  and  bits 
of  property  sheltering  widows  and  orphans  today,  simply 
because  Judge  Nye,  with  his  generous  heart  and  wise 
counsel,  gave  them  the  aid  they  needed  at  a  critical  time. 

"We  have  said  in  the  resolutions  we  have  adopted  that 
Judge  Nye  was  an  upright  jurist,  an  honest  man,  an  able 
lawyer,  a  true  friend — what  more  is  it  possible  to  say  of 


54       TRIBUTE  TO  STEPHEN  G.  NYE 

any  man  if  these  things  can  be  said  truthfully*?  And  of 
him  they  are  literally  true." 

Judge  Waste  said  that  he  would  be  glad  to  hear  from 
any  other  members  of  the  bar  who  would  like  to  speak,  and 
his  partner,  Mr.  Kinsell,  made  the  following  remarks: 

"May  it  please  the  Court:  Upon  hearing  of  the  sud- 
den and  serious  illness  of  Judge  Nye  I  hastened  to  his 
bedside,  which  was  reached  but  a  few  hours  prior  to  his 
death — and  while  his  death  has  so  affected  me  that  it  is  with 
difficulty  I  speak,  yet  I  wish  on  this  occasion  to  express 
publicly  my  love,  respect,  and  admiration  for  him. 

"To  me,  Judge  Nye  was  more  than  a  friend — he  was 
my  benefactor.  All  I  have,  or  am,  or  hope  to  be,  I  owe  to 
him.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  have  known  him  in  his 
home  life  and  to  have  been  intimately  associated  with  him 
in  business.  He  was  a  most  lovable,  kind,  and  generous 
soul — a  liberal  dispenser  of  charity,  and  withal  most  modest 
and  unostentatious.  His  life  was  an  example  worthy  the 
emulation  of  us  all.  In  his  death  God  has  claimed  one  of 
nature's  noblemen." 

At  the  conclusion  of  Mr.  Kinsell' s  remarks,  Judge 
Ellsworth  said  that  he  had  not  intended  to  say  anything, 
but  what  had  been  said  impressed  him  so  much  with  its 
genuineness  and  sincerity  that  as  he  recalled  Judge  Nye  he 
wished  to  say  a  word  only  as  to  the  impression  that  Judge 
Nye  always  made  upon  him,  and,  he  had  no  doubt,  upon 
the  other  judges,  in  his  professional  capacity.  He  said 
that  whenever  he  saw  Judge  Nye  come  in  the  door  of  the 
court  room  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  there  was  no  neces- 
sity to  watch  out  for  any  attempt  "to  fool  the  Court" ;  that 


ALAMEDA   COUNTY   BAR  ASSOCIATION         55 

always  when  Judge  Nye  was  presenting  a  matter  to  the 
Court  he  listened  and  accepted  the  statements  that  he  made 
without  question.  He  was  sorry  to  say  that  there  were 
times  when  certain  lawyers  appeared  before  him  when  he 
felt  that  he  had  to  be  keenly  alert  to  sift  not  only  what  was 
said  but  the  law  that  was  stated  in  support  of  the  argument. 
No  judge  ever  had  to  be  on  his  guard  when  Judge  Nye  was 
before  him. 

The  order  of  the  Court  was  then  made  directing  that 
the  resolutions  which  had  been  adopted  be  placed  upon  the 
minutes  of  the  Court,  and  the  meeting  adjourned. 

The  resolutions  were  as  follows : 

In  Memoriam — Stephen  G.  Nye. 
Presented  by  the  Oakland  (Cal.)  Bar  Association. 

WHEREAS,  Judge  Stephen  Girard  Nye,  the  oldest 
member  of  the  Bar  of  Alameda  County,  has  passed  away. 

Resolved,  That  in  his  death,  the  bar,  not  only  of  the 
county  but  of  the  State,  has  lost  one  of  its  most  honored 
members ;  that  in  the  record  of  over  forty  years  of  laborious 
service  on  the  bench  and  at  the  bar  of  the  county  he  has 
left  an  example  to  the  younger  lawyers  and  to  young  men 
everywhere — a  record  of  duty  faithfully  and  unselfishly  dis- 
charged, of  honor  unsullied  and  a  character  so  fortified  by 
principle  that  no  temptation  could  move  it.  The  impulses 
of  a  generous  heart  and  the  resources  of  an  alert  and  well- 
equipped  mind  prompted  him  to  make  quick  response  to 
the  needs  of  the  suffering,  the  weak,  and  the  distressed, 
illustrating  in  a  high  degree  those  kindly  qualities  which 
he  possessed  in  such  a  rare  measure. 


56  TRIBUTE  TO   STEPHEN  G.   NYE 

Resolved,  That  in  his  passing  we  mourn  the  loss  of  an 
able  and  honorable  lawyer,  an  upright  jurist,  a  good  citizen, 
and  a  true  friend. 

Resolved^  That  these  resolutions  be  presented  to  the 
Superior  Court  of  this  county  with  the  request  that  they  be 
entered  upon  the  minutes,  and  that  a  copy  be  sent  to  the 
widow  of  our  deceased  brother. 


Speeches  cm6  Orations 


Stephen  <B. 


Ax  LIFE'S  HIGH  NOON 


On  fye~Deatl)  of 


"Delivered  at  tlje  <&arflet&  32temorlat  Services  lit~3>r/Kamlltoit's 
(Tburc^,  Oakland,  California,  September  25,  18SI 

Today  the  world  grieves  at  the  death  of  Garfield.  My 
tribute  shall  be  but  a  paragraph;  and  I  would  that  I  were 
endowed  with  the  gift  of  tongues  that  I  might  seize  the 
moment  to  say  the  fit  word.  There  are  souls  so  great  that 
all  the  world  claims  kin.  There  are  minds  so  magnetic 
that  all  others  are  attracted  to  them.  There  are  natures 
so  grand  that,  when  the  icy  breath  has  kissed  the  clay  and 
closed  the  temple,  all  earth's  millions  meet  with  muffled 
tread,  mute  in  the  memory  of  a  measureless  loss.  Man- 
hood is  a  guild  of  nobility.  There  are  other  poets  than 
those  whose  verse  we  read.  Thousands  thrill  with  un- 
uttered  poetic  thought.  Other  orators  there  are  than  they 
whose  words  wake  to  action.  Noble  deeds  have  sprung 
from  noble  thoughts  —  the  children  of  silence.  Heroic 
facts,  more  thrilling  than  romance,  robe  us  all  around. 
The  heroes  stand  in  serried  ranks  the  world  over.  They 
are  born  of  Him  who  died  to  save  a  world.  They  know 
the  brotherhood.  And  this  universal  grief  is  not  alone 
because,  at  the  height  of  his  achievement,  Garfield's  honor- 


*  "From  the  mass  of  turgid  oratory  that  has  inundated  the  land  over 
the  death  of  our  honored  and  loved  President,  from  out  the  watery  flood 
of  thin  preacher-talk,  we  reproduce  the  following  by  Hon.  Stephen  G.  Nye, 
as  something  worth  preserving  for  its  beauty  of  expression,  elegance  of 
diction,  and  purity  of  sentiment." — The  San  Francisco  Argonaut. 


60  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

able  ambition  begat  no  enmity,  and  his  advancement  no 
envy,  but  because  to  the  world's  great  masses  he  was  their 
high  priest  at  the  altar  of  liberty,  the  interpreter  of  their 
thoughts,  their  example  of  great  manhood,  and  the  revela- 
tion of  the  grand  possibilities  under  a  free  government, 
among  a  free  people. 

The  man  we  mourn  is  now  a  part  of  history.  What 
is  it?  What  is  human  history?  We  boast  of  our  country 
and  of  our  age ;  of  our  century's  growth ;  of  our  fifty  millions 
of  people ;  of  individual  greatness.  Of  the  fifteen  hundred 
millions  of  people  of  the  earth,  how  small  a  part  are  we ! 
Earth's  little  day  goes  by;  the  world  moves  on.  If  the  pen 
of  history  notes  us  at  all,  it  has  but  a  single  line  on  a  single 
page  to  show  that  even  our  generation  has  lived,  and  our 
grandest  and  noblest  are  forgotten.  Human  history — what 
is  it?  The  measure  of  a  moment;  the  record  of  a  lightning 
flash. 

See  now  nature's  history:  In  the  Mariposa  Grove 
stand  living  sentinels  whose  childhood  reaches  far  back 
toward  the  infancy  of  human  history.  It  is  but  Nature's 
Now.  Look  at  another  page:  Near  us,  in  the  Livermore 
Valley,  every  winter's  rain  that  cuts  a  section  of  the  soil 
tells  the  story  of  a  time  when  jungles  and  tropical  trees  and 
verdure  prevailed,  and  the  elephant  and  the  lion  lived  and 
died.  It  is  Nature's  This  Morning.  Look  at  the  grand 
heights  of  Yosemite,  and  see  how  the  Titans — fire  and 
frost — in  successive  ages  have  traced,  as  with  a  diamond 
pen,  the  history  of  their  time.  It  is  but  Nature's  Yesterday. 

Now,  when  the  historic  muse  thus  stands  upon  the 
mountain-peaks,  and  strides  from  age  to  age,  to  whom  a 


ON   THE  DEATH   OF   GARFIELD  61 

million  years  are  but  as  the  mincing  step  of  the  little  girl, 
do  you  say  that  national  and  individual  history  fade  away 
"like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision"4?  I  tell  you,  no! 
Nature's  history  tells  us  of  creation  and  destruction;  of 
power  and  intelligence;  but  they  are  of  the  Infinite. 

Human  history,  however,  tells  the  story  of  human 
kind;  and  when  it  is  written,  and  the  future  shall  read  of 
the  battle  of  right  and  might;  how  the  dim  perception  of 
the  right  became  crystallized;  how  men  learned  to  love 
liberty,  and  to  fight  and  pray  for  it,  not  only  for  themselves, 
but  for  their  fellows,  the  life  and  times  of  him  we  mourn 
will  fill  a  brilliant  page.  And  more.  I  shall  not  tread 
upon  the  domain  of  the  clergyman,  but  I  may  say  that  public 
life  has  seldom  presented  a  purer  example  of  faith,  not  only 
in  the  future  of  the  nation,  but  in  the  future  life.  He  is 
rich  whose  faith  takes  hold  with  unfaltering  trust  on  the 
hereafter.  To  some,  it  is  a  born  sense;  to  others,  it  comes 
by  training  and  development;  but  I  believe  that  to  most 
men  there  never  comes  that  unwavering  faith  that  sees  the 
future  life  as  if  "face  to  face,"  as  did  our  President. 

It  has  been  the  question  of  the  ages:  "If  a  man  die 
shall  he  live  again?"  In  the  tragedy  of  "Ion,"  you  re- 
member that  the  prince  from  childhood  had  been  educated 
by  the  priest.  He  had  grown  to  noble  young  manhood,  and 
between  him  and  Clemanthe,  the  priest's  daughter,  had 
grown  an  undying  love.  The  oracle  had  proclaimed  that, 
for  his  country's  safety,  the  young  prince  must  die.  He 
accepted  his  fate.  Their  last  interview  was  long.  At  last 
the  parting  came.  Clemanthe  said:  "Shall  we  meet 
again?"  He  answered:  "I  have  asked  that  dreadful  ques- 


62  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

tion  of  the  hills  that  look  eternal;  of  the  clear  springs  that 
flow  forever;  of  the  stars,  among  whose  fields  of  azure  my 
raised  spirits  have  walked  in  glory.  All  are  dumb.  But 
as  I  gaze  upon  thy  living  face,  I  feel  that  there  is  something 
in  love  that  mantles  through  its  beauty  that  can  not  wholly 
perish.  We  shall  meet  again,  Clemen  the."  His  conclusion 
was  the  child  of  reason. 

In  our  lives  sometimes  this  faith  is  born  of  grief.  Has 
it  ever  happened  to  you  to  hang  in  hope  and  fear  over  your 
darling,  only  at  last  to  see  the  thread  of  life  snap,  and  the 
waxen  fingers  and  the  white  blossoms  folded  over  the  still 
bosom,  and  when  the  anguish  of  empty  arms  was  almost  too 
great  to  bear,  has  not  the  light  of  a  future  life  come  to  you 
like  a  new  sense? 

And  may  it  not  be  that  he,  whose  all-grasping,  sym- 
pathetic hands  reached  down  from  the  highest  position 
earth  could  give  to  the  humblest  citizen  under  his  rule, 
shall,  by  the  example  of  that  pure  faith  which  made  him 
"so  fit  to  live — so  fit  to  die,"  take  a  nation  by  the  hand  and 
lead  it  to  the  sublime  heights  of  practical  religious  faith 
upon  which  he  stood?  And  may  we  not  hope  that  when 
another  century  shall  have  passed,  and  our  children's  chil- 
dren shall  stand  upon  the  mountain  heights  of  the  world's 
progress,  our  beloved  country  shall  blossom  and  fructify  in 
all  the  glorious  fruits  of  a  Christian  civilization?  So  let 
the  nation  pray;  and  so  praying  with  the  faith  of  him  we 
mourn,  the  prayers  shall  be  answered. 


and     e  American 


at  tlje  (Braduatlng^Exerclse*  of  "Xtvermore  Collage, 
,  ISS2 


When  the  Roman  gladiators  appeared  in  the  arena  of 
the  circus,  the  amphitheatre  above  and  around  them 
crowded  with  hundreds  of  thousands  of  the  Roman  popu- 
lace, they  stood  with  knotted  muscles,  facing  the  fierce  wild 
beasts  or  fiercer  men,  and  turning  to  the  imperial  box,  they 
cried,  "O  Csesar,  we  who  are  about  to  die  salute  you  \  "  That 
was  more  than  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  In  1875,  in 
another,  and  to  the  Romans,  a  world  undiscovered  and  un- 
known, in  the  halls  of  Bowdoin  College,  in  the  State  of 
Maine,  under  a  new  civilization,  without  the  accessions  of 
brutal  brawn  and  bloody  bravery,  before  an  assemblage  of 
the  culture  and  scholarship  of  America  stood  the  poet  whom 
we  now  mourn  —  our  beloved  Longfellow.  It  was  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  the  Bowdoin  class  of  1825.  That  band  of 
graduates  had  gone  out  to  try  conclusions  with  the  world, 
possessed  of  the  daring  and  ambition  of  young  manhood. 
After  half  a  century  the  scattered  remnants  of  the  class  had 
met  again.  Death  had  claimed  his  share;  and  of  the  rest,  to 
some  had  come  disappointment;  to  others,  measurable  suc- 
cess; a  few  wore  the  laurels  of  unstinted  fame;  and  old  age 
had  come  to  all.  In  his  snowy  crown  of  three  score  years 
and  ten,  regal  in  the  panoply  of  well-earned  fame,  the  poet 
stood,  and  like  a  benediction  from  his  lips,  fell  upon  the 


64  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

hushed  audience  the  address  of  the  gladiators:  "We,  who 
are  about  to  die,  salute  you."  I  salute  you,  my  young 
friends,  not  like  the  Roman  gladiators  about  to  die  to 
please  the  bloody  barbarism  of  a  brutal  populace,  nor  yet 
because  the  slanting  beams  of  the  western  sun  warn  me 
that  life's  little  day  is  nearly  over,  but  rather  I  salute  you 
from  the  position  of  life's  high  noon.  Horace  says  some- 
thing like  this :  "I  am  a  man;  and  there  is  nothing  pertain- 
ing to  human  affairs  in  which  I  am  not  interested."  That  is 
the  way  I  feel.  And  in  all  the  scope  of  human  observation 
there  is  nothing  of  such  surpassing  interest  as  the  sun-kissed 
flowery  springtime  of  life.  I  have  extreme  respect  for  young 
manhood  and  young  womanhood,  for  boyhood  and  girlhood. 

The  world  is  a  great  school,  and  experience  is  its  teacher. 
All  knowledge  is  but  the  outcome  of  experience.  We  are 
all  scholars  in  the  great  school,  and  you  and  I  are  fellow 
students.  Now,  my  fellow  students,  I  want  a  talk  with  you. 
I  have  heard  of  you,  and  when  I  come  to  see  you,  I  must 
say  I  like  you.  We  have  interests  in  common  in  this  great 
school  of  life.  You  will  soon  be  promoted  into  my  depart- 
ment, and  we  with  whom  there  are  silver  threads  among 
the  brown,  we  shall  soon  have  to  turn  over  the  work  of  life 
to  younger  hands  and  stouter  hearts,  and  it  may  be  useful 
and  I  hope  pleasant  to  have  a  confidential  talk  about  the 
road  to  promotion  and  the  prospects  ahead  of  us.  And  I 
want  to  talk  about  it  as  if  all  ears  were  deaf  but  yours  and 
mine.  In  other  words,  it  is  "our  party,"  and  all  the  out- 
siders— well,  if  they  behave  themselves,  they  can  stay. 

I  should  judge,  to  look  at  you,  that  you  were  a  body  of 
young  people  who  had  an  honorable  ambition  to  be  some- 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  AMERICAN  BOY        65 

body;  and  that  you  had  discovered  the  open  road  to  that 
point  was  by  way  of  educated  brains.  Am  I  right*?  If  that 
is  the  target  you  are  aiming  at,  you  have  made  a  center  shot, 
and  you  are  the  kind  of  young  people  I  am  trying  to  find  a 
chance  to  talk  with. 

I  knew  a  couple  of  boys  in  my  early  life  who  had  been 
led  to  believe  the  same  thing — that  education  meant  some- 
thing, and  they  were  ambitious.  The  facilities  from  the 
common  school  were  limited,  and  the  academy  meant  money. 
They  lived  on  the  beech-  and  maple-covered  hills;  work 
was  plenty  and  money  scarce.  College-bred  men  were  so 
few  they  were  a  curiosity.  It  took  all  the  energies  of  their 
fathers  and  mothers  to  compel  from  the  rugged  earth  a 
scanty  living.  They  had  heard  of  Bacon's  philosophy,  but 
the  serious  problem  with  them  was  to  get  bacon  to  eat. 
Their  parents  had  good,  sound,  hard  sense,  were  well  in- 
formed and  had  good  judgment,  but  they  felt  the  lack  of 
mental  culture  and  training;  they  saw  the  immense  advan- 
tage which  the  young  man  or  the  young  woman  had  who 
had  received  this  mental  training,  and  who  had  learned  to 
think,  and  they  saw  the  great  rewards  of  life  falling  into 
their  hands,  and  they  made  every  sacrifice  that  their  children 
might  have  that  better  education  of  which  their  pioneer  life 
had  deprived  them. 

These  boys  were  unable  to  hire  board,  so  they  rented  a 
single  room  for  fifty  cents  a  month,  put  in  a  straw  bed,  two 
chairs,  an  old  cooking  stove — no  carpets  nor  "tidies"  nor 
"what-nots."  A  pine  table  answered  for  a  study  desk  and 
dining-table,  and  tallow  dips  furnished  the  evening  light. 
And  thus  they  began  life  at  an  academy.  They  took  jobs, 


66  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

sawing  and  splitting  wood  for  the  neighbors  at  night  and 
morning,  at  three  shillings  a  cord,  to  pay  for  books  and 
incidental  expenses,  and  the  mothers  wore  the  "best  dress" 
another  year,  and  the  fathers  worked  earlier  and  later,  and 
wore  patches  on  their  knees,  that  they  might  pay  the  tuition 
bills.  And  so  all  the  day  and  far  into  the  night  those  boys 
wrought  out  the  beauties  of  algebra  and  the  mysteries  of 
geometry  and  the  declension  of  Latin  nouns  and  the  con- 
jugation of  Latin  verbs.  Their  ultimate  object  was  an  aca- 
demic training,  such  as  would  make  them  high  school 
teachers. 

Sometimes,  as  those  boys  worked  on,  they  wearied, 
courage  flagged,  mathematics  were  hard,  and  Latin  dull,  and 
the  question  would  come,  "What's  the  good  of  it  all?  "  On 
the  road  through  the  village  to  the  academy,  in  the  shade 
of  the  spreading  maples,  was  a  brick  law-office — in  the 
summertime  always  with  an  open  door — its  numerous  cases 
stacked  high  with  books,  all  owned  by  a  lawyer  named  Aus- 
tin Smith,  and  if  ever  there  was  a  man  entitled  to  the  appel- 
lation of  God's  nobleman,  he  was  the  man — if  he  was  a 
lawyer.  He  was  a  graduate  of  Hamilton  College,  and  of 
thorough  education.  He  had  begun  like  those  boys,  and 
had  wrought  his  own  way  through  college;  had  been  a 
teacher  of  district  schools,  that  he  might  pursue  his  college 
studies,  and  was  principal  of  the  first  academy  in  our  county 
that  he  might  become  a  lawyer;  and  he  had  that  ever- ready 
sympathy  which  took  into  its  broad  grasp  every  young  man 
or  young  woman  who  aspired  to  become  greater  and  better 
and  nobler  and  stronger.  And  to  him  or  her  who  starts  out 
on  such  a  career,  oftentimes  alone,  without  the  backing  of 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  AMERICAN  BOY   67 

home  influence  or  the  rallying  power  of  surrounding  cir- 
cumstances, how  much  more  than  untold  gold  is  the  energiz- 
ing power  of  such  a  sympathy ! 

On  their  way  home  one  day  this  lawyer  called  the 
boys  into  his  office  and  inquired  of  the  academy  and  of  the 
teachers  and  the  students  (he  was  one  of  the  trustees),  and 
of  their  studies,  and  of  their  lessons  of  the  day,  and  he  ex- 
plained the  structure  of  the  Latin  verb  and  the  errors  into 
which  students  were  apt  to  fall  in  regard  to  the  study  of 
Latin,  and  the  different  ways  of  demonstrating  geometrical 
theorems  and  their  manifold  application  in  architecture  and 
mechanics  and  engineering,  and  after  that  the  Latin  gram- 
mar was  effulgent,  and  a  halo  of  glory  hung  around  that 
geometrical  theorem  called  ports  asinorum  or  the  fool's 
bridge;  and  when  examination  came  and  this  lawyer,  by 
chance,  called  on  one  of  these  young  men  to  demonstrate 
that  theorem,  he  brought  out  every  point  in  the  demonstra- 
tion with  the  confidence  of  absolute  knowledge  and  fastened 
every  corner  as  with  the  sledge-hammer  blows  of  mathe- 
matical certainty. 

My  fellow  students,  you  know  what  the  feeling  is. 
When  you  learn  that  to  multiply  one  fraction  by  another, 
you  take  the  product  of  the  numerators  and  place  them  over 
the  product  of  the  denominators;  and  when  you  have 
learned  the  reason  why;  when  you  have  learned  that  to 
divide  one  fraction  by  another  you  invert  the  divisor  and 
proceed  as  in  multiplication,  and  when  you  have  learned 
the  reason  why;  and  when  you  have  learned  that  minus 
multiplied  by  minus  produces  plus,  and  when  you  have 
learned  the  reason  why;  when  you  have  learned  any  mathe- 


68  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

matical  truth  so  that  you  know  it,  and  know  why  you  know 
it,  you  have  a  right  to  be  proud  of  it,  for  it  is  a  victory. 
You  have  scaled  the  ramparts  of  ignorance,  and  the  gates  of 
knowledge  are  opening.  The  thrill  of  pleasure,  the  flashing 
eye,  and  the  mental  exaltation  are  a  noble  intoxication, 
which  cures  itself  by  repetition. 

Another  day  this  lawyer  called  the  boys  in  and  asked, 
"What  college  are  you  preparing  for?  "  They  told  him 
that  their  plan  was  a  couple  of  years  at  the  academy,  and 
then  active  life;  that  they  had  no  means  for  a  college 
course.  "Oh,"  said  he,  "you  don't  want  any  means  except 
such  as  you  can  earn."  And  then  he  told  them  of  his  own 
battle,  and  how  it  had  been  won,  and  before  long  he  had 
them  both  converted  to  the  college  course.  But  what  an 
inspiration  there  is  in  the  advice  and  encouragement  and 
sympathy  of  a  large-hearted  man  like  that !  In  a  long  and 
useful  life,  nothwithstanding  the  urgency  and  pressure  of 
professional  labor  and  duties,  he  never  failed  to  speak  an 
encouraging  word  at  the  critical  moment  to  every  aspiring 
boy  and  girl  within  the  range  of  his  acquaintance.  He  was 
a  home  missionary.  Five  years  ago,  when  I  was  East,  I 
found  him  in  the  serenity  and  peace  of  years.  He  had  not 
grown  old ;  age  is  in  feeling,  not  in  years ;  and  his  were  the 
feelings  and  sympathies  of  youth. 

But  time  went  on,  and  the  roads  of  those  two  young 
men  diverged.  I  will  follow  only  one;  he  taught  district 
schools  in  the  winters  and  worked  during  the  vacations,  and 
pursued  his  studies  the  rest  of  the  year.  He  entered  college 
as  a  sophomore,  and  finally,  seven  years  after  that  lawyer 
put  the  college  idea  in  his  head,  he  held  his  college  sheepskin 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  AMERICAN  BOY   69 

with  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts.  Homer  says  that  at 
the  siege  of  Troy  the  aged  Priam,  grown  too  old  to  join  in 
the  combat  with  the  Greeks,  daily  sought  the  Scsean  gate, 
and  there,  perched  atop  the  city  wall,  viewed  the  battle- 
scenes  below  and  gabbled  of  the  valor  of  his  fifty  sons  and 
of  the  prowess  of  his  youthful  days.  I  have  been  gabbling 
to  you  of  my  youthful  days.  Have  I  outlived  my  useful- 
ness? Perhaps,  perhaps;  but  I  hope  not. 

I  have  said  experience  is  the  world's  great  teacher.  I 
have  given  you  mine.  Its  lesson  is  this :  There  is  not  one  of 
you — no,  not  one — if  you  are  in  earnest  about  it,  but  can 
acquire  a  thorough  college  education,  and  if  by  anything 
I  can  say,  I  can  encourage  a  single  one  of  you  to  adopt  such 
a  course,  I  could  talk  to  you  all  night;  for  I  know  that  in 
so  doing  you  would  choose  that  better  part.  It  may  involve 
self-denial,  toil,  economy,  and  drudgery,  but  the  result  will 
sanctify  them  all.  No  egotism,  no  sense  of  self -adulation 
possesses  me,  but  rather  regret  that  life  has  accomplished  so 
little ;  for  it  seems  to  me  that  if  my  life  were  mine  to  repeat, 
or  had  my  early  education  been  directed  by  more  experienced 
hands,  life's  labor  might  have  shown  better  results.  Of 
one  thing  I  am  sure:  Remembering  the  past,  my  sympathy 
and  love  warms  toward  every  one  whom  I  see  traveling  the 
same  road.  I  have  spoken  of  educated  brains;  of  the  im- 
portance of  the  trained  powers  of  thought;  of  the  worth  of 
ideas.  A  few  short  years  and  you  will  be  in  active  life,  and 
among  the  factors  that  move  the  world.  Do  not  be  misled ; 
it  is  thought,  it  is  ideas,  that  make  the  moving  power. 

Did  you  ever  reflect  on  the  overmastering  power  of  an 
idea?  See  that  man  with  the  spade  tugging  away  lazily  and 


70  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

with  equal  effort  at  his  little  short  pipe  and  at  the  work 
before  him;  he  piles  up  his  little  mound  of  clay,  with  no 
soul  in  his  work,  no  thinking  powers  aroused,  except  such 
instincts  for  food  and  drink  and  rest  as  come  without  think- 
ing. He  gets  a  dollar  a  day  and  it  is  all  it  is  worth.  Now 
look  over  here;  this  one  takes  the  same  clay  and  mixes  and 
molds  and  fashions  it  into  forms  of  grace  and  beauty,  and 
pencils  it  with  glowing  colors  and  subjects  it  to  furnace 
heat,  and  it  comes  forth  the  beautiful  vase,  the  admiration 
of  the  world,  and  its  value  is  measured  by  its  weight  in 
gold.  Or  perchance  that  clay  comes  into  the  hands  of  a 
Powers,  or  a  Story,  or  a  Miss  Hosmer,  and  they  mold  it  into 
human  form,  and  fashion  the  features,  and  depict  thereon 
the  passions  and  affections  of  the  soul,  until  it  seems  in- 
stinct with  emotion,  and  needs  but  Pygmalion's  prayer  to 
make  it  throb  with  the  sweet  pulsations  of  life.  The  world 
of  education  and  culture  seeks  these  treasures,  and  wealth 
empties  its  full  coffers  to  become  owners.  The  laborer  and 
the  artist  use  the  same  clay;  the  laborer  and  the  artist  alike 
work;  why,  then,  this  vast  disparity  in  the  rewards  of  labor? 
The  one  mingles  only  his  labor  with  the  clay;  the  other 
mingles  with  the  clay  his  labor  and  brains.  It  is  thought 
transferred  to  the  work  before  him. 

"Lives  Phidias  in  his  work  alone? 
His  Jove  returns  to  air; 
But,  make  one  God-like  shape  from  stone, 
And  Phidian  thought  is  there." 

And  so  in  every  avenue  of  industry  and  in  every  walk 
in  life,  it  is  the  applied  thought;  it  is  the  utilized  idea  that 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  AMERICAN  BOY        71 

is  rewarded.  Look  at  the  government  of  these  United 
States.  In  a  government  like  ours — a  government  of  the 
people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people — and  in  which  you  are 
so  soon  to  have  a  voice,  it  is  well  to  consider  a  moment  its 
constitution  and  its  spirit.  Our  government  is  the  outgrowth 
of  an  idea,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  that  idea  is.  It 
is  individual  growth.  It  is  the  first  government  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  so  far  as  I  have  ever  found,  that  was  based 
on  that  idea.  The  Declaration  of  Independence  declared 
that  all  government  derived  its  just  powers  from  the  con- 
sent of  the  governed.  The  American  charter  of  rights  de- 
clared that  "all  men  are  created  equal";  all  other  govern- 
ments held  that  a  few  favored  people  called  kings  and 
popes  and  emperors  were  of  better  blood,  and  were  the  fav- 
ored of  heaven  and  had  a  divine  right  to  own  and  oppress 
all  the  other  people  of  the  earth. 

What  did  the  new  government  mean  2  It  meant  in- 
dividual growth;  it  meant  an  aristocracy  of  brains;  it  meant 
that  they  who  had  the  great  ideas  would  be  the  great  men 
in  the  new  government,  and  it  has  so  turned  out.  Where 
else  and  under  what  institutions  could  have  grown  up  such 
men  as  Henry  Clay,  or  Douglas,  or  Lincoln,  or  Garfield*? 
And  when  we  talk  of  the  genius  of  American  liberty,  it  is 
but  the  genius  of  individual  growth.  And  every  school- 
house  that  dots  the  hillsides  and  valleys,  or  rears  its 
prouder  form  in  town  or  city,  is  but  the  further  development 
of  this  same  idea  of  individual  growth.  It  means  that  gov- 
ernment will  furnish  the  facilities  of  mental  culture  to  her 
children  all  alike,  so  that  no  hard  condition  of  poverty  shall 
prevent  anybody  from  pressing  on  to  the  highest  position 


72  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

that  talent  can  attain.  And  whenever  any  insidious  foe  of 
the  American  idea  of  individual  growth  has  aimed  a  blow 
at  the  free  schools,  or  when  any  public  man  has  sought  his 
own  grandeur  at  the  expense  of  the  masses,  the  frowns  of 
the  American  people  have  stayed  the  hand  of  the  former,  and 
the  latter  they  have  relegated  to  the  seclusion  of  private  life. 
American  statesmen  have  been  honored  just  in  proportion  to 
their  devotion  to  this  central  truth  of  American  liberty. 

My  fellow  students:  Too  long  I  have  wearied  you. 
Give  me  one  word  more  and  I  am  done.  Ten,  fifteen,  twenty, 
twenty-five  years  at  farthest,  the  farmers,  the  merchants, 
the  judges,  the  lawyers,  the  doctors,  the  preachers,  the  bank- 
ers, the  statesmen,  the  teachers,  the  women  who  are  queens 
in  a  million  households  will  be  no  more;  or,  if  still  living, 
will  have  stepped  down  from  the  management  of  the 
world's  affairs,  and  you  will  fill  their  places.  Shall  you  be 
ready*?  Shall  the  farms  produce  two  blades  of  grass  where 
one  is  growing  now"?  Shall  the  wants  of  commerce  be  con- 
trolled by  energy  and  integrity?  Shall  the  ermine  of  the 
bench  be  spotless  and  its  judgments  just4?  Shall  the  bar  be 
peopled  with  the  defenders  of  the  weak,  and  the  avengers 
of  wrong?  Shall  disease  be  treated  with  a  cultured  brain 
and  skillful  hand?  Shall  the  pulpit  ring  with  the  "glad 
tidings"?  Shall  you  who  fill  the  halls  of  legislation — shall 
you  be  the  fearless  defenders  of  liberty?  Shall  the  teachers 
inspire  the  young  to  know  the  truth,  so  that  the  truth  shall 
make  them  free?  Shall  the  women  of  the  coming  time  pos- 
sess all  the  fascinating  blandishments  and  accomplishments 
of  mental  culture  that  make  her  the  queen  of  our  hearts  in 
all  ages  and  in  every  clime?  So  shall  it  be ! 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  AMERICAN  BOY       73 

I  believe  in  the  men  and  women  of  the  future.  I  be- 
lieve that  when  the  world  is  submitted  to  your  guidance,  it 
will  blossom  and  bear  the  fruits  of  a  nobler  civilization. 

"Heaven  put  no  lack  of  sorrow  in  thy  share 
Of  life's  allotment,  and  no  want  of  care; 
No  path  of  flowers;   no  smooth  and  easy  way, 
But  a  stout  heart,  and  a  devoted  will 
Life's  foes  to  meet,  life's  battles  to  fulfill, 
And  when  burns  low  and  dimly  nature's  fires, 
And  life's  last  sunbeams  court  the  tallest  spires, 
Though  dark  without,  within  the  light  increase, 
And  peace,  the  peace  of  God,  the  God  of  peace." 


^t  tbe  installation  of  Officers  of  TL?on  -post,  3t0.s,  <B.7\.M., 
of  Oakland,  (Talifornia,  January,  l$S2 

When  I  look  upon  the  serried  ranks  of  the  Grand  Army 
of  the  Republic,  I  know  whereof  I  speak  when  I  declare  to 
you  that  every  man  is  a  "brick."  Don't  condemn  me  un- 
heard; don't  accuse  me  of  trifling  with  a  great  occasion; 
don't  charge  me  with  using  the  stale  slang  of  the  street.  As 
Paul  said  to  Festus :  "I  speak  forth  the  words  of  truth  and 
soberness."  And  I  justify  myself  because  I  have  the  war- 
rant of  the  purest  classics.  When  Agesilaus,  King  of  Sparta, 
received  the  ambassador  from  Crete,  he  showed  him  his 
palace  and  his  city  and  his  soldiery  and  said,  "What  thinkest 
thou,  O  Ambassador,  of  Sparta"?  "  He  answered,  "Sparta 
is  well;  her  palaces  are  great;  her  soldiers  are  brave;  but 
where,  O  King,  are  the  walls  of  Sparta*? "  The  king 
waved  his  hand  in  pride  towards  the  solid  ranks  of  his 
plumed  warriors  and  replied,  "These,  O  Ambassador,  are 
the  walls  of  Sparta,  and  every  man  is  a  brick !  " 

And  when  I  look  upon  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Repub- 
lic, I  speak  by  the  book,  and  I  know  that  they  are  the  walls 
for  the  defense  of  American  liberty,  and  in  those  walls  every 
man  is  a  brick. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic,  over 
your  heads,  and  beyond  you,  I  see,  as  if  painted  upon  yonder 
wall,  a  panorama  of  the  American  history.  Away  in  the 
far  distance  I  see  a  little  handful  of  people  upon  the  Atlantic 


A  GRAND  ARMY  ADDRESS  75 

seaboard,  driven  by  despotic  power  from  the  Old  World, 
seeking  a  place  where  conscience  shall  be  free  to  worship  God 
in  its  own  way.  I  see  them  scattered  through  the  wilder- 
ness, compelling  from  the  rugged  earth  a  scanty  support, 
with  the  pitiless  sea  in  front,  separating  them  from  the  hope 
of  help  from  the  civilized  world,  and  the  more  pitiless  sav- 
ages behind,  ready  with  tomahawk  and  club  to  wipe  them 
from  the  face  of  the  earth.  I  see  a  people  jealous  of  their 
liberties  protesting  against  the  encroachment  of  royal  pre- 
rogative. I  see  them  at  last  with  arms  in  their  hands,  against 
fearful  odds,  fighting  the  battle  of  the  free.  I  see  the  heroes 
of  the  Continental  Congress,  on  the  third  day  of  July,  1776, 
in  Independence  Hall,  discussing  the  adoption  of  the  Magna 
Charta  of  American  liberty — the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence. I  hear  from  the  speaker's  desk  ring  out  from  that 
immortal  document  the  long-forgotten  and  ever-to-be- 
remembered  truth  that  "All  men  are  created  equal."  All  day 
and  all  night  of  July  3d,  they  discussed  its  provisions,  and 
in  the  silent  hush  and  bright  sunshine  of  that  Fourth  of 
July  morning,  I  see  the  old  bellman,  who  has  stood  at  his 
post  all  night,  waiting  for  the  supreme  moment,  tug  at  the 
rope,  and  I  hear  the  old  Independence  Bell,  true  to  the 
legend  imprinted  upon  it,  ring  out  from  its  brazen  throat, 
"Proclaim  liberty  to  all  the  earth,  and  to  all  the  inhabitants 
thereof!" 

I  see  at  last  the  long  contest  over.  "The  garments 
dyed  in  blood  are  rolled  away,"  swords  are  beaten  into 
plowshares  and  spears  into  pruning-hooks,  and  there  comes 
a  material  growth  and  prosperity  that  finds  no  parallel  in 
the  history  of  the  world.  The  oppressed  of  all  nations  seek 


76  SPEECHES    AND    ORATIONS 

an  asylum  on  our  shores;  cities  spring  up  as  from  the  en- 
chanter's wand;  forests  fade  away,  and  the  upturned  prairie 
freights  the  white-winged  messengers  of  commerce  on  every 
sea,  and  the  sacred  prophecy  is  fulfilled:  "The  wilderness 
and  the  solitary  place  shall  be  glad  for  them,  and  the  desert 
shall  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose." 

But  away  in  the  far  distance  I  see  a  little  black  cloud 
no  larger  than  a  man's  hand — the  cloud  of  human  slavery. 
I  hear  the  deprecating  voice  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  when  he 
sees  it  and  exclaims:  "I  tremble  for  my  country  when  I 
remember  that  God  is  just!  "  I  see  the  cloud  grow  larger; 
I  hear  the  clarion  notes  of  Garrison,  and  Parker,  and  Phil- 
lips, and  Gerrit  Smith,  and  Seward,  and  Abraham  Lincoln, 
proclaiming  that  this  nation  "can  not  exist  half  slave,  half 
free";  that  "between  slavery  and  freedom  there  is  an  irre- 
pressible conflict."  The  thunderbolt  has  come  at  last. 
Veterans  of  the  Republic,  I  dare  say  no  more.  I  have  heard, 
you  have  seen,  you  can  say: 

"Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord, 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are  stored ; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  His  terrible  swift  sword; 
His  truth  is  marching  on." 

The  contest  is  too  recent;  the  wounds  are  too  deep; 
the  blasted  households  and  the  aching  hearts  are  too  many. 
Let  another  generation  make  the  retrospect. 

May  I  call  you  comrades?  Because  unkind  nature 
sent  me  forth  into  life's  battles  with  a  broken  sword,  will 
you  shut  me  out  from  the  society  of  the  brave*?  I  will  call 
you  comrades.  I  trust  that  the  gratitude  of  a  great  nation 
shall  erect  a  temple  with  noble  columns  and  fretted  dome, 


A  GRAND  ARMY  ADDRESS  77 

with  all  the  beauty  and  grandeur  that  wealth  and  art  can 
give,  where  the  battle-scarred  veteran  whom  unkind  for- 
tune has  left  shipwrecked  upon  the  shore  shall  find  a  home 
of  comfort  and  peace.  Mythology  tells  us  that  when  Mem- 
non,  the  Trojan  hero,  was  slain  by  the  hand  of  Achilles,  the 
gods  transformed  the  dead  hero  to  a  statue  of  black  marble 
and  there,  upon  the  plains  of  Thebes,  through  the  long 
revolving  years,  with — 

"Marble  eyelids  closed  and  fast, 
Grave,  sweet  lips  and  stirless  hands, 
Straight  and  prone  he  lay  in  sleep, 
Brave  and  beautiful  and  slain." 

But  at  last  the  rosy-fingered  Dawn,  she  who  at  early 
day  parted  the  crimson  curtains  of  the  morning,  and  at 
the  first  faint  show  of  whose  purple  the  birds  burst  into 
song,  and  the  waiting  world  awoke,  found  the  sleeping  hero, 
and  knelt  and  caressed  the  cold  marble  until  at  last,  in  the 
eager  longing  of  love,  born  of  pity  for  the  silent  form  of 
beauty  before  her,  she  embraced  the  insensate  stone,  and 
kissed  the  cold  lips,  when  the  hot  blood  thrilled  through  the 
marble  veins,  and  he  awoke  to  life  eternal  with  the  gods 
upon  Mount  Olympus.  It  was  the  victory  of  love  over 
death.  Comrades,  long  may  you  live  to  see  the  glory  of  this 
republic  you  fought  to  save.  But  when  the  final  event 
comes  to  you  that  must  come  to  us  all,  where  all  that  is  left 
of  you  is  American  history  and  storied  marble,  let  us  hope 
that  when  coming  generations  shall  kiss  the  cold  marble  that 
perpetuates  your  deed,  the  hot  blood  of  a  patriot's  love  shall 
thrill  every  nerve,  and  the  pride  of  America  shall  be  the 
defenders  of  her  liberty. 


Cegal  Aspect  of  ^prohibition, 

erefc  Before  a  "prohibition  Convention 
In  Oakland,  California,  in  ISS4 


Some  years  ago,  just  over  the  Contra  Costa  line,  lived 
a  Mr.  Carter.  He  had  pastures  well  fenced  and  watered. 
Horses  and  colts  with  generations  of  trotting  blood  found 
their  way  there  from  San  Francisco  for  pasturage.  One 
colt  was  foaled  with  ten  generations  of  purse  winners 
on  the  side  of  both  sire  and  dam.  But  he  didn't  grow. 
Mother's  milk  was  scant;  wood  ticks  got  into  his  hide. 
When  autumn  came,  his  thin,  bony,  spiritless  frame  made 
him  an  equine  reproach,  and  the  disgusted  owner  gave  the 
colt  to  George  Carter,  a  boy  of  sixteen.  The  sense  of  owner- 
ship transformed  the  boy,  and  the  boy  transformed  the 
colt.  He  anointed  him  with  a  preparation  of  kerosene  and 
sweet  oil  to  kill  the  ticks;  then  a  thorough  bath  in  castile 
soap  and  water;  and  there  were  bran  mashes,  a  few  oats, 
and  the  best  hay,  and  every  morning  he  smuggled  a  pint  or 
two  of  new  warm  milk  into  the  bran  mash,  and  the  boy 
proved  a  better  mother  than  the  mare. 

Of  course,  thrift  followed;  new  life  and  the  pride  of 
ancestry  came  to  the  colt.  All  winter  he  was  stabled  at 
night.  Daytimes  he  ran  in  the  pasture,  reached  by  a  level 
stretch  of  road  in  front  of  the  farm,  down  which  George 
and  his  colt  tried  foot-races.  The  colt  never  broke  a  trot. 
Then  he  was  led  to  pasture  beside  a  mustang  saddle  horse. 


THE  LEGAL  ASPECT  OF  PROHIBITION          79 

Not  many  months  until  the  colt  could  outfoot  the  saddle 
horse  at  his  sharpest  run;  the  colt  never  broke  his  trot. 
Evolutions  from  generations  of  trotters  had  produced  a 
wonder.  At  two  the  colt  had  a  county  reputation.  At  three 
half  the  State  had  heard  of  him.  Gold,  almost  a  thousand 
dollars  was  offered.  George  and  his  colt  were  lovers.  Like 
true  lovers,  gold  could  not  separate  them. 

After  the  colt  was  three  years  old  no  dust  from  another 
horse  ever  fell  on  him  or  his  driver.  Time  was  when  a  fast 
horse  was  held  to  be  the  devil's  ally.  It  is  a  mistake.  I 
believe  a  thoroughly  good  horse  is  a  means  of  grace.  A  lady, 
educated,  refined,  religious,  a  public  speaker,  a  thoroughly 
good  woman,  who  has  artistic  taste  in  dress,  once  said, 
"There  is  a  satisfaction  in  being  well  dressed  that  the  con- 
solations of  religion  don't  afford."  To  me  there  is  the  same 
satisfaction  in  the  ownership  of  a  good  horse. 

One  day  in  May  haying  was  on ;  a  small  casting  in  the 
mower  was  broken.  At  supper  the  father  said,  "George,  in 
the  morning  hook  up  your  colt,  go  to  Oakland,  duplicate 
that  casting  and  don't  lose  any  time." 

"All  right,  father,  I'll  go  as  quick  as  I  can,  but  I  won't 
hurt  the  colt." 

"Hurt  nothin',"  was  the  reply;  "I  believe  you'd  go 
naked  if  the  colt  could  wear  your  clothes." 

The  sun  had  not  broken  over  the  Contra  Costa  hills 
when  the  pair  were  on  the  road;  now  walking,  now  jogging, 
but  all  the  time  that  long,  free,  open  stride  that  seems  slow 
but  leaves  behind  many  mile-posts.  He  reached  the  divide, 
then  down  the  western  slope  and  out  the  canon  to  the  four- 
mile  house.  There  he  dropped  his  check,  gave  his  colt  a 


8o  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

taste  of  water,  and  met  a  driver  from  the  Oakland  track 
giving  his  horse  a  little  exercise.  Horse  drivers  are  soon 
friends.  They  neared  the  city  limits,  and  there  was  a 
banter  for  "just  a  little  brush,  you  know,"  and  the  two  were 
at  once  neck  and  neck,  straining  every  muscle  for  the  mas- 
tery. The  level  head  and  machine-like  stride  of  the  colt, 
begotten  of  generations  of  trotters,  carried  the  older  horse 
off  his  feet.  George  waited  until  his  friend  had  gathered 
his  forces,  and  again  the  colt  carried  his  contestant  off  his 
feet.  This  time,  with  the  pride  which  is  pardonable  in  a 
boy  of  nineteen,  he  let  the  colt  go  at  his  best  speed,  and  the 
contestant  was  soon  literally  "out  of  sight." 

While  the  colt  was  at  his  hottest  gait,  just  ahead  was  a 
saloon  kept  by  a  man  formerly  employed  by  Carter  on  the 
ranch;  beyond  was  a  low  building  where  children  in  the 
yard  were  throwing  a  ball  over  the  roof  to  others  in  the 
street — a  game  called  "heliover."  A  little  girl  of  twelve  or 
thirteen  pursued  the  ball  into  the  street  and  stooped  to  pick 
it  up  just  as  that  tornado  on  wheels  came  flying  up  the 
street  and  went  directly  over  her.  A  great  groan  broke  from 
the  boy's  lips  as  he  checked  his  colt  and  went  back  to  find 
that  the  girl  did  not  get  a  scratch.  There  was  gladness  and 
relief  for  the  boy,  and  an  arrest;  for  there  was  a  policeman 
in  front  of  the  saloon — they  never  go  inside.  Never*?  Well, 
hardly  ever — never,  if  the  saloon  is  unlicensed. 

"What  am  I  arrested  for?"  said  George. 

"For  fast  driving." 

"Can't  I  drive  as  fast  as  I've  a  mind  to?  " 

"No,  not  faster  than  eight  miles  an  hour.  You  might 
hurt  somebody;  you  came  mighty  near  it." 


THE  LEGAL  ASPECT  OF  PROHIBITION          81 

"That's  a  fact,  but  why  should  I  be  arrested  when  I 
didn't  mean  to  hurt  anybody,  and  didn't  hurt  anybody?  " 

He  felt  a  little  ugly,  but  John,  the  saloon  man,  went 
with  him  to  the  police  court,  and  they  explained  to  the 
judge,  who  was  on  the  bench,  the  situation,  and  the  boy 
took  their  advice  to  plead  guilty  to  fast  driving  and  have  it 
over  at  once.  The  police  judge  was  a  young  man,  broad- 
headed,  kind-hearted,  and  withal  possessing  a  sort  of  natural 
judicial  faculty,  a  little  pedantic,  perhaps,  a  little  fond  of 
displaying  his  legal  learning,  but  altogether  a  most  excel- 
lent police  judge;  perhaps  Oakland  never  had  a  better.  He 
listened  to  the  story  of  the  boy  and  the  policeman  and  then 
said: 

"Young  man,  ordinances  and  laws  are  made  for  the 
safety  of  the  people.  Now  in  cities,  if  everybody  drove  at 
top  speed,  as  you  did,  don't  you  see  how  many  accidents 
might  happen?  It  was  almost  a  miracle  that  this  girl  was 
not  killed.  Now  the  Roman  law  maxim  was,  Salus  populi 
suprema  lex;  that  means,  the  safety  of  the  people  is  the 
highest  law.  Of  course,  you  will  not  drive  so  fast  again. 
Let  the  fine  be  three  dollars." 

John  paid  the  fine;  George  got  his  casting  and  was 
home  by  noon.  All  afternoon  he  ran  a  horse-rake,  but  he 
couldn't  forget  how  near  he  came  to  killing  that  girl;  then 
he  was  glad  he  didn't  live  in  a  city  where  he  could  drive 
only  eight  miles  an  hour;  then  the  girl  and  his  colt  going 
like  the  wind  came  to  him;  then  it  occurred  to  him  what 
beautiful  brown  eyes  the  girl  had;  then  that  maxim  of  the 
judge  rang  in  his  ears:  "The  safety  of  the  people  is  the 


82  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

supreme  law."  "Why,"  said  he  to  himself,  "that  hits  lots 
of  things." 

A  week  later  George  drove  his  colt  again  to  Oakland. 
He  kept  his  eye  out  for  the  girl;  he  didn't  see  her;  she  was 
at  school.  He  stopped  and  paid  John  his  three  dollars,  and 
they  talked  the  whole  thing  over  again. 

"Say,  John,"  said  the  boy,  "there  is  lots  of  sense  in 
that  Latin  stuff  the  judge  gave  us  the  other  morning.  Didn't 
know  I'm  talking  Latin  now,  did  you*?  Solus  rpopuli  su- 
premo lex — the  safety  of  the  people  is  the  supreme  law. 
Why,  it  hits  lots  of  things,  and  I  ain't  sure  but  it  hits  your 
old  gin-mill  here  square  on  the  nose." 

"Oh,  pshaw,  now!  what  you  givin'  us*?  You  ain't 
one  o'  them  prohibition  cranks  at  your  age,  be  you?  " 

"Well,"  said  George,  "there's  a  couple  of  men  just 
took  a  nip — whisky,  wasn't  it — ten  cents  apiece?  They're 
working  men.  Did  they  drink  before  today?  " 

"Yes,  once." 

"Exactly,  and  will  they  drink  again  today?  " 

"Always  three  times  a  day." 

"Precisely;  that's  thirty  cents  a  day,  and  they  get 
two  dollars  a  day,  and  not  steady  work  at  that,  and  they 
both  have  families.  Fifteen  per  cent  of  their  wages  for 
whisky;  they  can't  afford  it." 

"Oh,  well,  that's  none  of  my  business,"  said  John; 
"if  they  don't  want  it,  they  needn't  come  here." 

"Sure,"  said  George;  "if  that  little  girl  didn't  want  to 
be  run  over  she  shouldn't  get  in  the  street.  I  tell  you,  John, 
that  solus  populi  business  is  a  sweeper;  it  hits  this  little 
shebang  of  yours  a  swat  in  the  eye  that  knocks  it  clean  out. 


THE  LEGAL  ASPECT  OF  PROHIBITION          83 

It  made  me  hot  the  other  day  when  that  young  feller,  the 
judge,  stuck  me  for  three  dollars  for  spurting  my  colt;  but 
he's  got  some  sense,  and  I've  done  a  heap  of  thinking  the 
last  week,  and  when  they  get  that  solus  populi  medicine 
scattered  all  through,  there's  a  lot  of  things  will  have  to 
go  besides  fast  driving,  and  the  saloon  is  one  of  Jem,  and 
don't  you  forget  it." 

"Oh,  well,  George,  honest,  I  ain't  stuck  on  the  business, 
but  it's  easy,  and  there's  a  living  in  it,  and  it's  lawful,  but 
it  ain't  clean.  I  wish  I  was  out  of  it.  But  let's  drop  it. 
How's  your  mother4?  Awful  good  woman,  your  mother  is 
— best  friend  I  ever  had  since  I  left  the  States." 

"Oh,  mother  is  all  right,  and  she  don't  like  it  a  little 
bit  that  you're  selling  gin." 

Ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  boy  in  a  single  day  got 
an  education  in  political  economy,  in  political  rights,  and  in 
legal  ethics,  and  it  came  through  a  trotting  horse.  Didn't  I 
say  that  a  good  horse  is  frequently  a  means  of  grace?  He 
had  learned  the  basic  principle  of  prohibition,  and  it  was 
hammered  into  and  through  his  understanding  and  was 
headed  down  and  was  there  to  stay.  That  is  all  there  is  in 
the  legal  principle  of  prohibition.  Blackstone  says  it  is  a 
part  of  the  English  common  law,  this  doctrine — public 
safety — the  supreme  law;  that  it  existed  in  the  unwritten 
law  of  the  Saxon-  and  English-speaking  race  and  was  a  part 
of  their  usages  and  customs — as  the  old  writers  quaintly 
expressed  it,  "from  a  time  whereof  the  memory  of  man  run- 
neth not  to  the  contrary."  And  in  all  the  great  volume  of 
litigation  which  has  arisen  from  legislative  action  to  curb, 
restrain,  regulate,  or  prohibit  the  liquor  trade,  the  courts 


84  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

have  everywhere  and  universally  sustained  the  right  to  such 
restrictive  legislation.  As  the  courts  say,  it  is  a  police 
regulation. 

Did  you  ever  think  how  simple  is  a  great  principle4? 
The  whole  world  gets  by  the  ears;  everything  goes  wrong: 
war,  pestilence,  famine,  free  trade,  tariff,  and  hard  times 
are  sometimes  the  outgrowth.  Some  master  mind  proclaims  a 
simple  principle,  and  as  to  the  storm-tossed  ship  on  Galilee, 
there  comes  peace,  and  all  is  still.  Columbus  set  the  court 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  sweating  how  to  set  an  egg  on 
end;  they  gave  it  up.  You  know  how  he  did  it;  he  only 
had  the  wit  to  think  of  it. 

One  more  illustration  of  the  simplicity  of  a  great  prin- 
ciple. It  goes  without  saying  that  California  is  a  great 
State.  We  love  her.  She  is  our  mother.  Story,  the  sculp- 
tor, forty  years  ago  chiseled  his  idea  of  California  in  marble. 
He  represented  her  as  a  beautiful  woman,  extending  in  one 
hand  a  purse  of  gold,  while  behind  her  in  the  other  was 
concealed  the  thorn  to  stab  the  hand  of  the  too-earnest 
seeker.  That  was  the  California  of  '49.  Not  now  is  that 
the  ideal.  Rather  she  is  the  young  matron — rich,  rugged, 
ruddy,  and  robust.  Her  feet  are  washed  by  the  waves  of 
the  Pacific;  her  head,  resplendent  in  a  golden  crown,  rests 
in  the  snow-capped  Sierras  that  shine  eternal  in  the  summer 
sun,  while  she  scatters  from  her  luxurious  lap,  fruit  and 
bread  and  oil  and  wine,  not  only  to  her  children,  but  to 
the  world  beyond  the  mountains  and  beyond  the  seas. 

She  says :  "My  children,  my  granaries  are  overflowing, 
my  barns  are  bursting  with  plenty,  my  orchards  are  breaking 
with  fruit  and  the  products  of  my  sun-kissed  vines  where 


THE  LEGAL  ASPECT  OF  PROHIBITION          85 

mead  and  mountain  meet;  alas!  my  warehouses  are  too 
small.  To  the  sea,  my  children,  to  the  sea !  Fill  the  white- 
winged  ships  and  away  to  other  lands!  So  shall  com- 
merce wait  upon  thrift  and  industry;  so  shall  the  people 
multiply  and  inhabit  my  plains,  and  they  shall  become  rich 
and  great,  and  the  prophecy  be  fulfilled:  The  wilderness 
and  the  solitary  place  shall  be  glad  for  them,  and  the  desert 
shall  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose.'  So  shall  the  flag  of 
the  free  wave  over  a  land  free  indeed." 

Well,  her  children  came  to  the  sea.  What  found  they 
there?  The  Southern  Pacific  Railroad  Company — born 
thirty  years  or  so  ago  in  Kentucky  and  named  the  S.  P.  R.  R. 
Co.  of  Kentucky.  It  had  neither  father  nor  mother,  no  body 
and  no  soul;  it  was  a  corporation.  California  adopted  it 
early  in  life,  and  it  thrived;  went  into  railroading  first, 
then  warehousing  and  wharfinger  trade  and  real  estate  specu- 
lation and  into  politics.  It  grew  rich  and  powerful  and 
insolent  and  corrupt.  There  were  years  and  years  when  no 
man  could  hope  for  political  preferment  or  official  position 
in  this  city,  county  or  State,  except  he  first  felt  the  pulse 
and  found  the  preferences  of  the  S.  P.  R.  R.  Co.  of  Ken- 
tucky. And  during  those  years  no  man  ever  did  occupy 
official  position  without  the  approving  nod  of  this  imper- 
sonal Jupiter  Tonans,  whenever  it  cared  for  a  choice.  It 
wouldn't  pay  its  share  of  household  expenses — refused  to 
pay  taxes.  You  remember  that.  For  an  adopted  child,  it 
was  right  peart  as  well  as  prosperous. 

"Hello,"  said  S.  P.  when  it  saw  the  people,  "what's 
up?" 


86  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

"We've  got  mother's  wheat  and  fruit  down  here,  and 
we're  going  to  sea  with  it." 

"You  go  back  and  tell  the  old  woman,  I'm  established 
in  business  here  now;  that  I  own  all  the  railroads  and  fer- 
ries and  wharves  and  warehouses  and  all  the  water-front, 
and  if  she's  going  to  send  her  truck  to  sea  she  must  count 
me  in.  She's  got  to  go  over  my  wharf,  and  she  must  pay 
toll.  The  essence  of  ownership  is  control,  and  I've  got  that, 
and  my  rule  of  charge  is,  'All  the  traffic  will  bear.'  ' 

And  so  it  was.  California  kicked  and  so  did  her  chil- 
dren; and  when  at  last  the  public  awoke  and  the  Oakland 
"Enquirer"  here  last  year  started  in  and  hunted  up  the  his- 
tory of  the  water-front  of  this  city  from  1853  to  the  present 
day,  it  revealed  a  gigantic  combination  of  official  imbecility, 
of  official  dishonesty,  of  private  duplicity,  of  corporate  cor- 
ruption that  may  have  been  equaled  but  was  never  excelled. 

And  the  S.  P.  R.  R.  Co.  of  Kentucky  considered  itself 
so  strongly  fortified  and  walled-in  with  legislative  grants 
and  resolutions  of  city  councils  and  judgments  quieting 
title  and  deeds  and  quit-claims,  that  it  began  a  suit  involv- 
ing title,  and  in  part  for  the  purpose  of  quieting  public 
clamor.  You  remember  the  water-front  suit.  There  was  a 
jury,  and  three  judges  heard  the  case.  It  went  on  day  after 
day,  week  after  week,  yes,  and  month  after  month.  The 
rulings  of  the  court  on  all  vital  points  were  for  the  railroad; 
they  followed  precedent. 

Just  here  a  strange  thing  happened.  A  similar  suit 
had  been  tried  in  Chicago,  where  a  railroad  company  by 
similar  means  had  acquired  a  large  share  of  Chicago's  water- 
front. The  suit  had  gone  to  the  United  States  Supreme 


THE  LEGAL  ASPECT  OF  PROHIBITION          87 

Court  and  was  there  decided  while  ours  was  on  trial.  The 
decision  was  very  simple.  It  held  that  wherever  the  tide 
flows  is  public  ground.  Does  the  State  own  it*?  It  is  a  pub- 
lic trust.  Does  the  city  own  it^  Still  it  is  a  public  trust. 
It  can  not  be  sold  or  given  away  or  deeded  away.  It  is  the 
people's  property.  It  was  so  simple,  and  yet  so  strong,  it 
melted  the  chains  which  enthralled  the  commerce  of  Chi- 
cago; and  it  shall  melt  the  chains  from  our  water-front, 
and  Oakland  shall  be  what  God  intended  her  for — a  city 
whose  streets  shall  be  throbbing  arteries  of  commerce  and 
whose  people  shall  be  hundreds  of  thousands. 

In  1819  was  tried  in  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States  the  famous  case  of  Dartmouth  College  vs.  Wood- 
ward. Daniel  Webster,  then  thirty-seven  years  old,  a  grad- 
uate from  Dartmouth,  and  in  the  prime  and  vigor  of  young 
manhood,  was  for  the  college.  Dartmouth  got  her  charter 
from  the  Crown  of  England  in  colony  days.  The  legislature 
of  New  Hampshire  passed  laws  changing  the  government 
of  the  college.  The  question  was  as  to  the  constitutional 
power  of  the  legislature  to  make  the  change;  whether  it 
was  not  an  interference  with  contract  rights  forbidden  by 
the  Constitution.  It  is  said  that  when  Webster  rose  to  make 
his  argument  every  judge  prepared  himself  with  pencil  and 
paper  to  take  copious  notes;  but  so  simple  and  so  plain 
seemed  all  he  said  that  after  hours  of  the  ablest  argument 
ever  heard  by  that  august  body,  not  a  judge  had  made  a 
mark.  So  simple,  but  so  potent  is  a  great  principle. 

A  consideration  of  the  legal  aspect  of  prohibition  even 
for  ten  minutes  would  be  incomplete  without  a  moment's 
review  of  some  of  the  restrictive  legislation  and  the  causes 


88  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

leading  thereto.  You  all  know  what  is  called  the  Univer- 
sity Liquor  Law.  It  applies  also  to  the  State's  prisons  and 
the  Napa  Insane  Asylum.  It  forbids  the  sale  of  intoxicants 
within  a  mile  of  the  State  University  and  these  other  insti- 
tutions; but  I  don't  think  you  know  its  history.  It  was 
passed  in  the  winter  of  1876,  and  its  author  was  the  late 
Dr.  Ned  Gibbons,  then  State  Senator  from  Alameda 
County, — a  very  learned  and  able  man  in  his  profession, 
but  by  no  means  a  total  abstainer.  The  University  was  then 
young;  the  Senator  was  its  staunch  friend;  and  he  intro- 
duced the  bill.  It  was  referred  to  the  Committee  on  Public 
Morals,  of  which  the  Senator  was  chairman.  The  com- 
mittee had  several  meetings.  The  doctor  said  to  me:  "It 
was  my  pet  bill,  and  after  a  while  I  got  a  majority  of  my 
committee  to  report  favorably.  But  I  wanted  a  unanimous 
report.  One  afternoon  I  sent  notices  to  the  members  for  a 
meeting  of  the  Committee  on  Tublic  Morals'  at  my  rooms 
that  night  at  nine  o'clock.  I  got  some  refreshments  and  a 
full  committee;  and  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  by 
means  of  a  gallon  of  whisky  and  a  box  of  cigars,  every  man 
of  the  Committee  on  Tublic  Morals'  signed  the  report 
recommending  the  passage  of  the  bill,  and  it  passed  the 
Senate  by  a  large  majority." 

"God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way, 
His  wonders  to  perform." 

Prohibition  movements  are  often  propelled  by  peculiar 
forces.  Some  ten  or  fifteen  years  ago,  a  strong  temperance 
movement  went  all  over  the  South,  and,  strangely  enough, 
it  began  in  Kentucky.  Just  think  of  it — Kentucky,  where 


THE  LEGAL  ASPECT  OF  PROHIBITION          89 

old  Bourbon  in  deep  cellars  and  in  moldy  barrels  grows 
mellow  and  smooth,  and  in  volume  enough  to  float  a  ship. 
Why,  the  popular  belief  used  to  be  that  there  every  man 
was  a  colonel  with  a  Tantalus  thirst,  whose  meat  and  drink 
was  a  cocktail  and  a  chew  of  tobacco  for  breakfast,  two  for 
dinner,  and  three  for  supper.  Men  with  cellars  full  of 
whisky,  men  with  distilleries — all  voted  for  prohibition  and 
sent  their  whisky  to  Chicago,  New  York,  and  New  Orleans. 
I  couldn't  understand  it.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  spend 
the  winter  of  1885  in  the  South.  I  found  it  practically  a 
temperance  country  all  through.  That  year  they  framed  a 
new  constitution  in  Florida.  On  the  gth  of  April,  in  the 
city  of  Orlando,  I  attended  a  Democratic  County  Conven- 
tion to  nominate  delegates  to  the  constitutional  convention. 
There  wasn't  a  thimbleful  of  whisky  in  that  convention. 
A  barrel  of  ice-water  stood  in  the  portico.  It  was  all  the 
drink  they  had.  There  was  one  saloon  in  the  city,  but  no 
respectable  Democrat  went  inside;  nobody  but  negroes  and 
other  Republicans. 

A  man  named  Randolph,  a  Virginian  by  birth,  was 
elected  a  delegate.  They  called  him  out  for  a  speech.  He 
said  in  substance :  "You  know  my  sentiments  on  the  lead- 
ing questions  likely  to  be  discussed  in  the  convention,  and  I 
think  I  know  yours.  Concerning  the  liquor  question,  my 
personal  choice  would  be  to  debar  forever  in  the  State  of 
Florida  the  manufacture  or  sale  of  intoxicating  drinks. 
Perhaps  that  would  be  in  advance  of  present  public  senti- 
ment; but  the  least  that  can  be  done  under  a  Democratic 
government  is  to  embody  a  provision  in  the  fundamental 
law,  that  each  town  or  city  or  local  community  may,  by  vote, 


90  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

permit,  or  forbid,  the  sale  of  intoxicants."  And  that  Demo- 
cratic audience  cheered  and  cheered  again.  Shades  of  the 
great  and  mighty  Democracy!  And  has  it  come  to  this? 
Where  are  the  natural  rights  of  man?  Where  is  the  San 
Jose  Democratic  State  Convention  of  1882  that  declared 
against  Sunday  laws  and  sumptuary  legislation? 

I  studied  out  the  secret  of  the  temperance  movements 
in  the  South.  Literally  there  was  "a  nigger  in  the  fence." 
A  large  element — in  many  places  a  large  majority — of  the 
population  are  negroes.  They  are  ignorant  and  improvi- 
dent; everywhere  appetite  is  uppermost.  With  an  inch  of 
whisky  in  a  negro  he  is  as  good  as  a  white  man;  with  two 
inches  he  is  better  than  a  white  man ;  with  three  he  can  lick 
him;  with  four  he  can  kill  him,  and  with  five  he  does  kill 
him.  Temperance  legislation  was  therefore  necessary  for 
self-preservation.  So  it  accentuates  what  I  said  before  that 
the  motive  power  of  temperance  legislation  sometimes  comes 
from  sources  we  dream  not  of.  The  University  Liquor  Law 
was  begotten  of  a  gallon  of  whisky  and  a  box  of  cigars, 
and  the  negro  regenerated  the  South. 

One  word  more,  my  friends.  What  of  the  night? 
Amid  the  sorrow  is  there  joy?  Shall  the  daylight  break? 
I  don't  know.  I  don't  know.  O  God  give  us  faith !  Give 
us  hope!  Teach  us  to  pray;  and  to  work  as  we  pray,  and 
to  vote  as  we  work.  Watchman  on  the  mountain-tops,  tell 
us  of  the  night.  Shall  the  daybreak  come?  It  must  come. 
His  promise  shall  not  fail.  "He,  watching  over  Israel,  slum- 
bers not  nor  sleeps." 

Ladies  and  gentlemen  of  this  Prohibition  Convention: 
To  have  thus  met  you  is  an  honor  for  which  I  shall  be  for- 


THE  LEGAL  ASPECT  OF  PROHIBITION          91 

ever  grateful.     Let  me  close  with  the  words  of  Abraham 
Lincoln : 

"And  when  victory  shall  be  complete  and  there  is 
neither  slave  nor  drunkard  on  earth,  how  proud  the  title  of 
that  land  which  may  truly  claim  to  be  the  birthplace  and 
the  cradle  of  both  these  revolutions.  How  nobly  dis- 
tinguished that  people  who  shall  have  planted  and  nurtured 
to  maturity  both  the  political  and  moral  freedom  of  their 
species." 


,A66ress  at  a 

San  TLcait&ro,  California,  TFebruar?  U,  l$97 


It  is  more  than  a  third  of  a  century  since  I  first  came  to 
this  city.  It  was  no  city  then,  nor  did  it  give  much  promise 
of  one.  I  was  a  young  man;  I  brought  a  newly  wedded 
wife.  We  sought  a  place  to  work  and  make  a  home.  We 
found  it.  So  cordial  was  our  greeting  we  knew  we  had 
camped  on  the  right  trail.  God  prospered  us  and  our  first 
savings  bought  land  and  built  a  home,  and  in  that  modest 
house,  up  here  on  Hays  Street,  we  lived  for  twenty-five 
happy  years  —  the  happiest  of  my  life. 

Our  children  were  born  and  reared  there,  and  when 
the  white-winged  angel  kissed  our  first-born,  and  we  drank 
the  cup  of  awful  bitterness  which  none  can  know  save  those 
who  have  tasted,  how  the  warm  sympathies  of  a  host  of 
friends  went  out  to  us  in  that  sad  hour,  we  never  can  forget. 
My  father  spent  here  the  last  years  of  a  useful  and  honor- 
able life,  and  went  hence  to  his  last  rest. 

In  my  profession  I  tried  to  merit  your  confidence,  and 
you  gave  it  unstinted.  I  was  ambitious  for  public  promo- 
tion, and  you  helped  me.  Once,  by  your  aid,  I  became 
District  Attorney,  three  times  County  Judge,  and  once 
State  Senator  —  honors  beyond  my  deserts,  so  it  seemed  to 
me.  And  so  it  was  that  you  rejoiced  with  us  when  we  re- 
joiced, and  you  wept  when  we  wept. 

Eight  years  ago  we  left  you.  But  I  confess  to  you 
that  San  Leandro  seems  to  me  now  the  sweetest  spot  on 


ADDRESS    AT   A    FLAG-RAISING  93 

earth,  and  I  tell  you  I  never  visit  your  little  city  and  survey 
her  tree-arched  streets,  her  charming  homes  of  beauty  and  re- 
finement, her  orchards  and  gardens  laden  with  fruits  more 
gorgeous  than  the  fabled  golden  apples  of  the  Hesperides, 
that  remorse  does  not  wring  my  heartstrings  that  I  ever 
abandoned  such  lovely  surroundings.  It  is  well,  perhaps, 
that  we  can  never  live  our  lives  over  again  except  in 
memory. 

But  the  compliment  that  thrills  me  most  is  this: 
Here,  where  are  gathered  all  these  schoolchildren  whose 
fathers  and  mothers  I  have  known  from  their  early  child- 
hood, you  have  chosen  me  as  one  to  say  a  fit  word  on  this 
occasion. 

The  history  of  this  pole  and  flag,  I  understand,  is  this : 
Mr.  Hastings,  one  of  your  citizens  living  just  outside  of  the 
city,  an  ardent  Republican,  in  the  last  campaign  made  a 
vow  that  if  this  city  should  give  a  Republican  majority,  and 
Major  McKinley  should  become  President,  he,  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, would  ornament  this  city  with  the  tallest  flagpole  in 
the  State.  There  was  a  Republican  majority,  and  Mr.  Mc- 
Kinley is  President;  and  our  honored  friend,  Mr.  Hastings, 
has  fulfilled  his  vow.  From  the  top  of  this  heaven-piercing 
staff  the  sun's  earliest  and  his  latest  rays  shall  kiss  the  flag 
good  morning  and  good  night.  Ah,  my  friends,  Mr. 
Hastings  builded  better  than  he  knew ! 

Did  you  ever  know  a  political  campaign  where  partizan 
heat  and  partizan  hate  sometimes  caused  things  to  be  said 
that  had  better  have  been  left  unsaid?  I  have,  and  the  last 
campaign  was  an  example.  But  when  the  contest  is  over 
and  reason  resumes  sway,  it  comes  to  us  all  that  above  and 


94  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

around  and  embracing  all,  greater  and  stronger  than  Re- 
publican or  Democrat  or  Populist,  is  our  common  country 
and  our  beloved  flag. 

When  Paul  was  Saul,  don't  you  remember  how  he 
breathed  out  threatenings  and  slaughter  against  the  disciples 
of  the  Lord?  But,  after  the  miraculous  journey  towards 
Damascus,  where  the  scales  fell  from  his  eyes,  and  he  was 
filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  he  became  the  chosen  vessel  to 
carry  the  Redeemer's  name  through  all  the  earth. 

And  so  it  is  here  now.  All  men,  regardless  of  party, 
all  kindred,  nations  and  tongues  are  here,  together  in  one 
place,  like  the  Apostles  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  and  let  us 
pray  that  there  be  poured  out  upon  us  a  blessed  pentecostal 
baptism  of  the  holy  spirit  of  patriotism,  to  the  end  that  a 
"Government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people, 
shall  not  perish  from  the  earth." 

Surely,  our  friend  Mr.  Hastings  builded  better  than 
he  knew.  You  boys  and  girls  of  the  Union  School,  a  few 
years  more  and  you  will  be  men  and  women.  Shall  you  be 
loyal  to  your  country  and  her  flag?  How  can  you  be 
loyal?  Think  noble  thoughts.  Do  noble  deeds.  Speak 
the  truth.  Be  pure  and  good.  So  doing,  you  shall  be  the 
pride  of  your  country,  and  you  shall  be  proud  of  her  as  well. 

When  Lord  Nelson  was  bearing  down  upon  the  French 
and  Spanish  fleets  off  Cape  Trafalgar,  in  that  historic  naval 
battle  in  1805,  with  his  men-of-war  arranged  in  two  lines, 
as  previously  assigned,  he  asked  if  a  signal  were  not  lacking. 
When  Capt.  Blackwood  answered  that  he  thought  the  whole 
fleet  knew  what  they  were  about,  up  went  the  signal  on  the 
Admiral's  ship,  to  be  read  by  the  whole  fleet,  which  con- 


ADDRESS    AT   A    FLAG-RAISING  95 

veyed  the  immortal  words:  [At  this  point  in  the  speech 
the  flag  went  up]  "England  expects  every  man  to  do  his 
duty."  Hot  was  the  fight  and  dreadful  the  carnage,  but 
victory  perched  on  England's  banners.  My  young  friends, 
and  you  who  are  older,  the  signal  is  up.  That  flag  is  talking 
to  you.  Do  you  hear  its  voice?  Among  its  starry  folds,  in 
characters  of  living  light,  I  read,  "America  expects  every 
man  to  do  his  duty." 

Will  you  try?  I  know  you  will.  Be  obedient  to  law. 
Every  rioter,  every  law-breaker,  every  person  unwilling  to 
obey  the  law,  is  false  to  himself,  false  to  his  country,  and  a 
traitor  to  the  flag. 

If  hot  passions  and  evil  counsel  should  ever  surge 
around  you  like  a  flood,  and  would  carry  you  from  your 
moorings,  think  of  your  God,  your  country,  and  your  flag. 
They  shall  be  your  anchor,  sure  and  steadfast. 

O  beautiful,  starry  flag,  emblem  of  our  beloved 
country,  we  commit  you  to  the  love  and  protection  of  these 
young  people,  so  soon  to  be  our  citizens! 


TEmotional  ^nsanit?  att6HLeo(al 


Speed)  in  fye  State  Senate  In  tfce  Winter  of  tSSl 

Mr.  President:  I  think  there  is  more  in  the  bill  of  the 
Senator  from  the  Eighteenth  —  the  one  under  discussion  — 
than  at  first  sight  might  appear.  I  confess  that  I  am  in 
favor  of  this  bill;  but  I  look  at  it  from  a  different  stand- 
point. 

Now,  no  law  is  of  any  force  or  effect  unless  its  penal- 
ties can  be  carried  out,  and  it  is  all  wild  theory  to  say  that 
a  thing  ought  to  be  so  when  you  can  not  make  it  so.  We 
must  take  society  as  we  find  it.  We  must  take  sentiment 
as  we  find  it,  and  do  with  it  the  best  we  can.  The 
optimist  might  say  that  every  man  should  be  hanged 
who  committed  murder.  But  so  long  as  the  voice  of 
the  people  doesn't  say  so,  we  must  do  the  best  we  can 
with  it,  and  make  such  laws  as  shall  conform  to  the  public 
sentiment. 

Now,  sir,  there  is  some  reason  in  this  sentiment  that 
prevails  which  excuses  murder  —  because  it  can  be  called  by 


*A  short  time  previous  to  the  legislative  session  of  1881  the  famous 
Schroder  murder  case  had  been  tried  in  Oakland,  and  one  of  the  rulings 
of  Judge  Greene  favorable  to  the  defense  had  provoked  the  criticism  of 
a  good  many  members  of  the  bar.  Senator  Grove  L.  Johnson  introduced 
a  bill  intended  to  satirize  emotional  insanity  as  a  defense  in  homicide 
cases,  and  in  the  course  of  the  debate  Senator  Nye  delivered  this  speech, 
which  also  must  be  regarded  as  being  mainly  satirical. 


EMOTIONAL  INSANITY  97 

no  other  name — which  evades  the  penalty  of  the  law  for 
the  purpose  of  excusing  the  murderer.  If  we  look  back  to 
the  earliest  history  of  crime,  as  laid  down  by  the  historians, 
I  think  we  can  arrive  at  some  idea  why  this  sentiment  has 
arisen  and  exists  as  it  does.  Originally,  before  society  had 
an  existence,  so  far  as  history  can  tell  us,  family  ties  sup- 
planted all  others;  the  family  existed  before  society  existed, 
and  when  one  of  the  members  of  the  family  was  killed, 
something  of  the  same  sort  of  feeling  existed  toward  the 
murderer  that  exists  where  a  man  has  struck  your  person — 
you  want  to  strike  back;  and  after  society  had  become 
formed  and  taken  upon  itself  the  punishment  of  criminals, 
we  find  the  old  idea  mixed  up  with  the  new.  We  find  it, 
as  the  gentleman  from  the  Eighteenth  has  developed  it,  in 
the  Bible,  where  it  declares:  "He  that  sheddeth  a  man's 
blood,  by  man  shall  his  blood  be  shed,"  declaring  that  so- 
ciety should  take  that  thing  into  its  hands  and  do  the  work. 
In  other  places,  however,  we  find  rules  laid  down  for  the 
avenger  of  blood.  Now,  that  was  the  law,  and  the  origin 
of  it,  and  the  growth  of  it. 

Among  the  German  tribes,  as  Pike  in  his  history  of 
crime  relates,  murder  was  considered  no  public  offense,  but 
as  something  to  be  settled  among  themselves.  But  as  the 
power  of  the  military  chiefs  increased,  they  conceived  the 
idea  of  compensation;  that  is,  for  every  man  who  was  killed, 
the  family  of  the  murdered  man  was  entitled  to  a  considera- 
tion in  money  or  cattle.  As  civilization  increased  they 
took  it  in  money.  Before  that  it  was  in  cattle  or  sheep. 
For  this  reason  the  doctrine  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest 
always  made  it  so  that  the  man  who  survived  was  the 


98  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

strongest  man,  and  necessarily  the  best  fighter,  and  therefore 
the  most  useful  to  the  chief;  but  as  the  condition  of  society 
changed,  and  it  became  more  civilized,  and  when  human  life 
became  more  sacred,  and  when  it  was  deemed  necessary 
that  it  should  be  better  protected,  why  then  they  created 
the  laws  as  we  find  them;  like  the  common  law  of  England. 
To  prevent  these  vendettas  and  quarrels,  which  would 
result  in  generation  after  generation  being  engaged  in  the 
quarrel,  and  the  loss  of  an  unlimited  number  of  lives,  where 
it  was  considered  that,  for  the  purposes  of  society  and 
civilization  and  the  state,  life  was  more  useful,  that  human 
life  was  protected  by  the  enforcing  of  such  a  law,  and  hence 
the  doctrine  of  murder,  as  we  find  it  laid  down  in  our  books. 
But  it  is  plain  that  society  has  outgrown  that  idea.  And 
here  I  want  to  say  that  reforms  always  come  from  society. 
They  never  come  from  the  lawmakers,  and  it  is  not  the  first 
time  in  the  history  of  law  that  reform  has  started  in  the 
jury-box  and  in  the  courts.  It  was  once  law  of  libel  that 
the  truth  of  a  libelous  publication  could  not  be  used  to 
justify  a  libel;  and  it  so  existed  up  to  the  year  1800,  even 
in  America,  and  it  remained  for  Alexander  Hamilton,  the 
greatest  among  the  learned  lawyers  and  learned  counsel  of 
our  land,  to  first  declare,  in  the  celebrated  case  of  the  People 
vs.  Croswell,  that  the  truth  might  be  given  as  justification 
for  libel,  and  although  the  judge  charged  that  that  was  not 
the  law,  the  jury  took  it  into  their  hands  and  refused  to  find 
a  verdict  of  guilty.  The  reform  started  in  the  jury-box  and 
with  the  lawyers.  It  ended  by  an  act  of  the  Legislature  to 
conform  to  what  then  became  evident  was  public  sentiment, 
which  declared  that  the  truth  might  be  given  in  evidence. 


EMOTIONAL  INSANITY  99 

Nor  is  our  own  State  free  from  examples  of  that  kind. 
I  mean  judicial  legislation.  There  have  been  courts  that 
have  been  bold  enough  to  take  the  law  into  their  own  hands 
and  so  legislate,  and  our  Supreme  Court  has  done  it  in  one 
notable  instance,  creditable  to  both  the  heart  and  head  of 
the  judge.  Now,  sir,  I  simply  advert  to  this  to  show  that 
I  am  correct  about  it.  The  law  prior  to  1869  concerning 
guardianship  read  as  follows:  "The  father  of  any  child 
who  is  a  minor  may,  by  his  last  will  and  testament,  appoint 
a  guardian  or  guardians  of  such  child,  whether  born  before 
or  after  the  time  of  making  such  will;  and  in  case  of  the 
death  of  the  father,  the  mother  of  such  child  may  in  like 
manner  appoint  a  guardian  or  guardians,  if  such  child  shall 
not  then  have  any  legally  appointed  guardian.  These  and 
every  testamentary  guardian  shall  give  bonds,  and  qualify, 
and  shall  have  the  same  powers  and  perform  the  same  duties 
with  regard  to  the  child  as  the  guardian  appointed  by  the 
Probate  Court."  Now,  sir,  I  would  like  to  know  where 
there  is  a  lawyer  or  man  or  woman  who  reading  that  would 
say  a  man  could  not  make  a  testamentary  guardian  who 
should  have  control  of  the  ward  regardless  of  the  claims  of 
the  mother  and  everybody  else.  And  still  Judge  Sanderson, 
in  the  case  of  Lord  vs.  Hough,  took  the  bit  in  his  teeth,  and 
in  an  opinion,  notable  for  its  sterling  good  sense  as  well  as 
for  its  length — containing  something  like  thirteen  pages — 
he  reasoned  out  the  proposition  that  although  the  law  said 
a  man  might  make  a  testamentary  guardian  that  would  take 
a  child  away  from  its  mother,  that  he  could  not  do  it.  It 
was  judicial  legislation,  and  the  next  winter  the  Legislature 


ioo  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

declared  by  act  that  to  be  law  which  the  court  by  judicial 
legislation  had  so  decided. 

Sir,  we  are  going  through  that  transformation  now, 
and  although  it  may  be  mere  theory,  I  think  it  results  from 
an  idea  existing  in  the  community  that  the  population  is 
getting  too  numerous;  that  there  should  be  some  means 
whereby  it  shall  be  decimated;  that  the  Malthusian  theory 
of  too  dense  a  population  is  correct,  and  juries  have  indi- 
cated that,  although  the  law  says  that  a  man  who  commits 
murder  shall  be  punished  as  declared  by  law,  they  have 
taken  reform  into  their  own  hands  and  declared  that  it  shall 
not  be  so.  The  refinements  of  the  jury  system  tend  to  the 
same  result.  Forsyth  in  his  history  of  the  jury  tells  us 
that  in  early  times  men  were  selected  for  jurors  who  were 
best  acquainted  with  all  the  facts  concerning  the  commis- 
sion of  crime  and  who  knew  all  about  it,  and  who  therefore 
were  better  qualified  to  decide.  As  the  refinements  of 
modern  civilization  grew  up  the  present  system  has  come 
into  use,  where  practically  no  one  who  has  ever  heard  of  a 
case  with  sufficient  common  sense  to  form  an  opinion  can 
sit  as  a  juror.  And  it  actually  happened  that  on  the 
Schroder  jury  was  an  accepted  juryman  living  within  ten 
miles  of  Oakland,  surrounded  by  that  blaze  of  intelligence 
for  which  my  county  is  noted,  who  had  never  even  heard 
of  the  Schroder  murder.  What  a  boon  to  a  poor,  hunted 
criminal  that  he  be  tried  by  a  jury  of  such  profound 
knowledge  of  current  events  as  that! 

There  have  existed  such  things  as  fictions  in  law. 
Everybody  knows  that  the  action  of  trover  is  a  mere  fiction. 
The  original  action  of  trover  in  common  law  set  out  that 


EMOTIONAL  INSANITY  101 

John  Doe,  a  party  in  the  case,  lost  his  watch  on  the  high- 
way, and  Richard  Roe  came  along  and  found  it.  I  say 
this  to  illustrate  that  fictions  in  law  have  arisen  in  this 
matter  of  murder  as  well  as  in  other  cases.  As  I  said, 
common  law,  in  action  of  trover,  supposes  that  the  plaintiff 
has  lost  his  article,  and  that  another  man  came  along  and 
found  it,  and  this  form  of  law  is  still  used,  when  in  fact  no 
such  losing  and  finding  takes  place;  for  example,  when  a 
man  came  and  absolutely  took  it  out  of  another's  possession. 

Now,  then,  this  new  doctrine  of  emotional  insanity  is 
one  of  those  things  that  has  arisen  as  a  sort  of  fiction  in  the 
law.  Emotional  insanity  is  that  a  man  at  the  moment  he 
commits  murder  was  insane — perfectly  sane  the  moment 
after.  It  has  been  invented  for  the  purpose  of  excusing 
men  for  murder  in  cases  where  public  sentiment  desires 
them  to  escape  punishment.  I  refer  to  all  cases  of  that 
character,  but  particularly  advert  to  the  one  known  as  the 
Sickles  case,  where  Sickles  shot  the  paramour  of  his  wife 
in  one  of  those  moments  of  emotional  insanity,  although  at 
the  very  time  the  dereliction  was  going  on  between  Mrs. 
Sickles  and  her  paramour,  he  himself,  it  is  said,  was  with  a 
woman  in  like  dereliction  in  Baltimore.  That  is  the  sort 
of  emotional  insanity  that  was.  But  that  is  a  well-known 
case,  followed  by  the  celebrated  Cole  case,  followed  in  our 
State  by  the  notorious  Laura  D.  Fair  case,  followed  again 
by  that  cold-blooded  murder  known  as  the  Muybridge  case, 
followed  still  later,  and  last  by  what  is  known  as  the 
Schroder  case. 

Now,  sir,  I  wish  to  illustrate  this  emotional  insanity 
business.  It  is  told  that  a  very  worthy  Jewish  widow  once 


102  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

had  a  son,  and  like  him  whom  Abraham  was  about  to  offer 
up  as  a  sacrifice  in  the  land  of  Moriah,  he  was  an  only  son, 
and  his  name  was  Isaac.  He  was  one  whose  manly  beauty 
and  mental  perfections,  added  to  the  education  and  training 
which  his  mother  had  given  him,  made  him  the  apple  of  her 
eye,  and,  of  course,  she  watched  his  conduct  in  every  way. 
She  finally  discovered  what  she  thought  was  an  aberration 
of  the  mind,  and  she  immediately  repaired  to  her  spiritual 
adviser,  and  said : 

"Rabbi,  my  dear  son  Isaac  is  insane." 

"So  great  an  affliction,  my  daughter!  How  does  he 
look,  and  how  does  he  act?" 

"Rabbi,  only  yesterday  I  saw  him  eat  a  pork  sausage 
like  a  Christian." 

"Oh !  that  may  be  a  private  appetite,  but  not  insanity — 
certainly  not  insanity." 

"Ah !"  said  she,  "but  that  is  not  all.  I  have  a  hand- 
maid— a  servant.  Her  name  is  Sarah,  and  she  is  a  beautiful 
girl.  I  traced  his  steps  to  the  kitchen,  and  I  saw  him  kiss 
her  and  hug  her." 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "that  is  not  insanity.  It  may  have 
been  affection ;  it  may  have  been  lust,  but  not  insanity.  If 
he  had  eaten  the  girl  and  hugged  the  sausage,  then  you 
might  believe  that  there  was  an  aberration  of  mind." 

Now,  sir,  you  take  that  case  before  a  modern  jury,  and 
with  a  modern  court,  and  in  the  method  in  which  they  have 
ruled  in  the  murder  cases  of  which  I  have  spoken,  they 
would  have  declared  that  that  man  Isaac  was  insane. 

Now,  sir,  I  say  that  all  this  shows  that  the  tendency 
of  public  sentiment  is  against  a  strict  adherence  to  the  rules 


EMOTIONAL  INSANITY  103 

for  the  punishment  of  murder  as  we  find  them  laid  down  in 
our  statutes.  I  say  that  in  those  and  in  all  other  cases  we 
must  consult  public  sentiment,  and  when  we  find  a  statute 
that  is  a  dead  letter  upon  the  statute  book,  wipe  it  out,  and 
let  it  conform  to  the  improved  sentiment  of  society. 

Mr.  President,  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  last  September 
there  was  a  young  man  in  this  city  by  the  name  of  William 
C.  Brown.  He  was  an  engineer  on  the  Central  Pacific 
Railroad.  On  that  day  towards  evening  he  drove  his  en- 
gine from  this  city  to  Oakland  wharf.  Behind  him  he  drew 
a  train  of  cars  loaded  with  hundreds  of  human  lives.  It 
was  dark  when  they  reached  the  wharf,  but  the  headlight 
revealed  to  him  the  fact  of  a  misplaced  switch.  It  gave 
him  time  to  escape  from  danger,  provided  he  sacrificed  the 
lives  of  those  whom  he  had  placed  in  his  charge.  He  did 
his  duty;  with  his  hand  upon  the  lever  reversing  his  engine, 
he  went  over  the  wharf  and  to  the  bottom  of  the  bay.  And 
every  passenger  was  saved. 

Four  days  later  they  brought  what  remained  of  that 
young  man  to  the  city  of  Sacramento,  and  the  people  stood 
uncovered  while  he  was  carried  through  their  ranks  to  his 
last  resting-place.  There  never  was  a  nobler  act  of  heroism. 
There  never  was  a  nobler  hero  than  this  young  man  they 
called  Billy  Brown.  Long  after  you  and  I  have  crumbled 
into  dust,  and  the  little  good  we  may  have  done  has  been 
forgotten,  and  the  name  that  we  have  written  in  the  sand 
has  been  washed  away  by  the  remorseless  waves  of  time, 
future  generations  of  young  men  and  women  will  read  from 
their  books  the  honorable  record  of  this  hero  of  the  overalls 


104  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

and  blouse.     And  their  hearts  shall  thrill  with  a  nobler 
impulse  to  the  discharge  of  the  duties  of  life. 

If  it  were  not  for  the  damnable  blasphemy,  for  the 
outrageous  sacrilege,  I  would  compare  the  discharge  of 
duty  by  the  jury  in  the  Schroder  case  to  the  conduct  of  that 
young  man.  Neither  satire  nor  comedy  will  permit  it. 
What  I  mean  to  say  is  that  juries  do  not  act  up  to  their 
oaths.  I  mean  to  go  further,  and  say  that  even  judges  don't 
do  their  duty,  and  when  a  judge  gets  up  before  a  jury  on 
an  occasion  of  this  kind  and  says,  "If  you  believe  from  the 
testimony  before  you  that  the  man  was  insane  at  the  time 
he  committed  this  act,  then  you  should  acquit  him" — I  say 
that  he  does  not  do  his  duty,  because  he  knows  it  is  a  fiction 
of  law  when  he  undertakes  to  declare  any  such  thing — when 
he  knows  that  there  is  no  testimony  to  warrant  any  such 
charge. 


"progress  of  ^Education 


Speec^  delivered  at  Alfred  XCnlvcrsltY,  Stew  york,3uitc,  IS99, 
tl)fc  Occastott  Seeing  tfye  Tiftictl)  ^Xnitiversar?  of  tfye 

C?ccum,  Of  Wljtcb  3fe  Was  a 
Mlember  Wljcit  <*  Student 


During  the  forty-four  years  that  have  elapsed  since  I 
left  Alfred  as  a  student,  it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  take 
part  in  numberless  reunions,  college  commencements,  cele- 
brations, religious,  political,  educational,  social,  —  all  kinds. 
Some  were  opened  with  an  address,  some  with  prayer,  and 
some  with  a  corkscrew.  But  with  that  noble  serenity  which 
distinguishes  the  sons  of  Alfred  and  proclaims  them  citizens 
of  the  world,  I  have  enjoyed  them  all,  and  I  am  here  to 
enjoy  this,  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  birth  of  the  Alle- 
gheny Lyceum. 

There  once  dwelt  in  Connecticut  a  devout  man  whom 
they  called  Deacon  John.  He  was  honest  with  himself  and 
with  his  God,  and  he  set  his  standard  of  integrity  high.  He 
had  the  habit  of  thinking  aloud;  and  it  brought  to  his  listen- 
ing neighbors  some  strange  revelations.  He  had  seasons  of 
self-communion  and  soul  searchings;  and  these  were  aloud. 
One  morning,  along  the  snowy  path  to  the  barn,  he  stopped 
short  and  the  examination  of  himself  began. 

"Deacon  John,  are  you  a  good  man1?  Are  you  a  truly 
good  man*?  Do  you  feed  the  hungry,  and  clothe  the  naked, 
and  give  drink  to  the  thirsty"?  Do  you  comfort  the  widow 


io6  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

and  protect  the  fatherless*?  Deacon  John,  do  you  give  all 
to  the  Lord?  Are  you  truly  a  good  man,  John?  " 

And  when  the  clear  light  of  the  confessional  revealed 
how  far  he  was  from  the  standard  of  the  Master,  he  turned 
his  sorrowful  face  to  the  wintry  sky  as  if  to  meet  his 
Maker's  reproachful  gaze  and  sobbed  aloud,  "Scacely,  John, 
scacely." 

The  cherishing  mother  has  blown  a  bugle  blast  to  call 
her  children  home.  The  loving  call  we  heard  from  ocean 
to  ocean,  and  from  pines  to  palms,  and  along  the  pathways 
of  half  a  century — and  here  we  are — some  of  us. 

Suppose  we  take  on  ourselves  the  Deacon's  burden  of 
self-examination — what  would  be  the  showing?  John,  are 
you  a  good  man?  Are  you  a  credit  to  your  Alma  Mater? 
Have  you  attained  the  high  ideals  she  taught?  And  the 
world — is  it  better  for  your  living?  And  your  country — 
what  about  her?  Is  it  the  party  or  the  State  you  have 
served?  Have  you  made  of  yourself  all  there  was  in  your- 
self to  be  made?  Are  you  a  great  man?  Are  you  a  good 
man,  John? 

Aye,  the  best  of  us  must  look  the  cherishing  mother 
level  in  her  loving  eyes  and  make  the  Deacon's  confession, 
"Scacely,  John,  scacely."  What  then  shall  we  do?  Pour 
ashes  on  our  heads  and  wear  sackcloth?  And  our  song — 
shall  it  be  an  eternal  Jeremiad?  No;  that  is  not  the  office 
of  this  occasion.  The  cherishing  mother  has  pride  and  praise 
for  her  successful  sons  and  daughters,  reproaches  for  none— 
love  for  all.  The  Book  tells  of  the  man  with  two  sons.  The 
younger  wanted  his  portion  and  got  it,  and  went  into  a  far 
country  and  wasted  it  in  riot  and  debauchery  and  herded 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  EDUCATION  107 

hogs  for  a  living,  and  went  hungry  and  ragged.  But  when 
he  came  to  himself,  that  is  when  he  "got  onto  himself,"  as 
a  free  translation  would  make  it,  he  went  back.  You  know 
the  royal  reception  he  met  and  the  best  robe  and  the  fatted 
calf,  and  all  that.  Now  if  the  father  forgives  the  dissolute, 
scampish  son,  what  shall  not  the  cherishing  mother  do?  No; 
this  is  not  the  time  for  self-abasement.  The  everlasting 
moaning  over  imperfection  stunts  every  aspiration  for  a 
higher  life ;  it  keeps  us  wallowing  in  the  world  below.  The 
confessional  is  like  medicine  and  morning  bitters — to  be 
taken  as  a  tonic  occasionally;  not  regularly  as  a  diet.  Per- 
fection we  may  not  reach.  Excellence  is  comparative.  Set 
the  standard  high.  "Aim  at  the  stars;  you  may  hit  the 
moon,"  was  the  pungent  expression  of  that  great  teacher, 
Professor  Kenyon.  Compare  what  we  are  with  what  we 
have  been  and  what  we  hope  to  be. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  not  use  the  few  moments 
set  apart  to  me  in  a  better  way  than  to  a  consideration  of 
that  which  this  university  represents — Education,  a  glance 
at  its  past,  its  present,  and  its  future.  It  was  conceded  from 
the  first  that  the  endurance  of  republican  institutions  de- 
pended upon  popular  intelligence,  and  that  must  come 
through  popular  education.  But  how  to  bring  that  about 
was  something  to  worry  the  wits  of  statesmen.  Inasmuch 
as  an  educated  citizenship  was  considered  a  public  benefit, 
its  cost  was  made  in  part  a  public  charge.  Inasmuch  as 
education  was  a  distinct  private  benefit  to  the  person  edu- 
cated, it  was  made  in  part,  and  the  larger  part,  a  private 
charge,  and  this  was  made  up  by  rate-bills  charged  to 
parents  of  children  in  the  ratio  of  their  number  and  the 


io8  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

number  of  days  attendance ;  those  who  were  too  poor  to  pay 
being  excepted. 

I  am  still  a  young  man,  but  what  public  education  was 
fifty  years  ago  is  a  personal  memory.  Caesar  said,  "I  write 
of  things  all  of  which  I  saw  and  part  of  which  I  was." 
That,  I  can  say.  The  American  college  where  I  began  my 
education,  more  than  sixty  years  ago,  was  among  the  beech- 
clad  hills  of  western  New  York.  The  country  was  new; 
the  people  poor.  Three  months'  school  in  summer  with  a 
lady  teacher,  and  a  like  term  in  winter  with  a  male  teacher, 
comprised  the  school  year;  summer  wages,  $1.50  per  week; 
winter,  $12  per  month.  Teachers  boarded  around.  That 
is,  each  family  sending  children  boarded  the  teacher  for  a 
time  proportionate  to  the  children  sent.  The  teacher  was 
always  sure  of  variety,  although  for  lunch  he  could  usually 
count  on  greasy  doughnuts  and  mince  pie.  The  school- 
house  was  twenty  by  twenty- four  feet;  unplastered  and  un- 
painted;  a  single  door  in  one  end,  a  huge  box-stove  in  the 
middle;  a  broad  board  shelf  or  desk  extending  around  the 
sides.  Its  sharp  edge  formed  a  back  to  the  backless  bench 
in  front,  and  a  writing  desk  when  the  pupil  turned  his  face 
to  the  wall.  In  front  of  these  benches  was  another,  lower, 
for  the  use  of  smaller  pupils,  on  three  sides  but  nearer  the 
stove.  Winters  were  frigid.  Outside,  earth  was  banked 
up  to  the  window-sills  for  warmth.  The  ceiling  was  low — 
so  low  I  remember  one  athletic  teacher  playfully  kicked  it; 
I  have  not  seen  its  like  in  thirty  years. 

The  curriculum  of  education  consisted  of  the  three 
R's,  "Readin',  Ritin',  and  'Rithmetic."  These  were  the 
staples.  Polished  scholarship  included  grammar  and 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  EDUCATION  109 

geography.  Teaching  methods  were  crude;  but  one  winter 
we  had  a  new  teacher,  fresh  from  the  academy,  full  of  en- 
thusiasm, and  running  over  with  new  methods.  His  teach- 
ing was  an  everlasting  interrogation  point;  no  how  without 
a  why.  That  winter  was  the  birth  of  an  intellectual 
life  and  activity  as  marked  as  the  renaissance  of  learning 
and  the  fine  arts  in  Europe  in  the  fifteenth  century.  En- 
thusiasm was  at  camp-meeting  pitch.  The  pages  of  the 
arithmetic  fairly  glowed  with  light,  and  thrilled  the  nerves 
as  with  an  electric  current.  In  every  family  each  night  the 
candle-light  shone  upon  open  books  and  earnest  eyes,  long 
after  older  members  of  the  household  were  asleep.  The 
course  of  study  was  largely  elective.  Mathematics  I  pur- 
sued because  that  I  preferred,  and  so  it  was  when  I  entered 
Alfred  in  1854,  I  nacl  already  completed  in  mathematics 
the  college  course,  while  the  Latin  and  Greek  I  had  scarcely 
touched. 

But  forty  years  ago  there  was  already  beginning  a 
public  awakening  concerning  the  free  school.  There  were 
cranks  in  those  days.  The  crank  of  yesterday  is  the  hero 
and  prophet  of  today.  Men  were  advocating  on  the  plat- 
form, in  the  pulpit  and  the  press  the  inherent  right  of  every 
child  of  the  State  to  education  at  public  charge. 

In  my  adopted  State,  when  I  went  there,  the  rate-bill 
plan  prevailed.  In  1863,  we  elected  John  Swett,  an  able 
teacher,  as  State  Superintendent.  He  was  a  John  the 
Baptist,  preaching  in  the  wilderness,  proclaiming  salvation 
through  free  schools.  Burning  plains,  roaring  torrents  and 
snow-clad  mountain  pass  did  not  stop  him.  He  met  the 
people  in  every  school  district  and  pledged  them,  whether 


i  io  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

Democrat  or  Republican,  that  every  legislator  should  be 
elected  on  a  platform  pledged  to  free  schools.  And  thus  the 
Free  School  Act  was  passed.  Two  years  after  came  the 
endowment  of  a  State  university.  Still  there  was  a  hiatus 
from  the  grammar  school  to  the  university.  The  law  made 
no  provision  for  the  high  school.  Now  the  high  school  is 
a  public  charge ;  and  so  it  is  that  any  boy  or  girl  in  the  State, 
be  the  parents  with  or  without  wealth,  may  study  in  the 
same  schools,  from  the  same  books,  under  the  same  teacher, 
from  the  primary  to  the  most  advanced  university  course, 
provided  only  he  or  she  possesses  the  ambition  for 
learning, — and  all  without  price. 

You  have  seen  in  the  public  journals  and  you  have 
heard  from  the  platform  and  the  pulpit,  warnings  against 
aggregated  wealth  and  consequent  aggregated  poverty,  and 
the  danger  is  imminent.  The  remedy  is  free  education  and 
the  best.  Public  education  is  doing  more  than  all  things 
else  as  the  great  leveler.  It  puts  the  higher  intelligence 
against  the  higher  wealth,  and  it  is  an  uneven  contest; 
wealth  may  win  for  a  season,  but  in  the  end  wealth  goes 
to  the  wall.  Put  the  children  of  the  rich  man  and  of  the 
poor  man  in  the  same  schools  and  the  outgrowth  is  the 
aristocracy  of  intelligence;  that  always  comes  on  top.  It 
is  doubtful  if  wealth  gives  a  young  man  or  woman  any 
advantage.  In  the  hard  conditions  of  early  life,  I  didn't 
think  so.  While  wealth  builds  walls,  the  universal 
education  knocks  them  down. 

Is  the  new  education  better  than  the  old?  The  facili- 
ties for  getting  it  are  certainly  more  popular,  therefore 
better  because  it  reaches  a  greater  number,  and  a  greater 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  EDUCATION      in 

percentage  of  the  entire  number.  But  the  methods  of 
education — are  they  better^  Whichever  is  more  potent  to 
create  intellectual  hunger,  to  arouse  the  mind  to  think,  that 
is  the  better.  It  is  not  the  amount  we  learn  that  constitutes 
education.  Cramming  is  anything  but  that.  You  don't 
train  a  trotter  by  cramming  him  full  of  oats.  His  diet  is 
a  study.  Day  by  day  he  gets  his  training,  until  he  has  the 
mastery  of  every  muscle,  and  when  the  race  comes,  every 
muscle  beneath  the  satin  hide  is  alive,  his  eye  flashing,  his 
mane  and  tail  a  banner  of  victory — a  splendid  example  of 
muscular  education. 

We  may  learn  a  lesson.  Don't  cram;  you  may  thus 
make  an  intellectual  hog,  you  will  never  thus  make  an  in- 
tellectual athlete.  The  scope  of  view  for  fifty  years  over 
the  college  of  the  masses,  to  wit:  the  common  school,  or  as 
we  call  it,  the  public  school,  shows  a  very  distinct  and  a 
very  gratifying  advancement.  But  what  of  the  higher 
education"?  Fifty  years  ago  the  college-bred  man  was  a 
curiosity  because  of  his  scarcity.  At  that  time  personally, 
I  knew  but  one.  Law,  medicine,  and  divinity — these  were 
the  learned  professions;  and  of  its  members  not  all,  not 
many  in  fact,  were  college-bred.  Some  in  addition  to  a 
profession  adopted  literature ;  but  in  the  field  of  politics  the 
college  man  received  cold  encouragement.  When  James 
Russell  Lowell  was  first  talked  of  as  an  American  minister 
to  the  court  of  St.  James  the  practical  politician  pronounced 
him  nothing  but  one  of  "them  literary  fellers."  Later  he 
filled  that  office;  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  no  minister  to 
that  court  ever  lent  to  the  American  name  more  of  splendor 
and  renown  than  this  "literary  feller." 


112  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

When  the  fortunes  of  war  with  Spain  tumbled  into 
our  national  lap  the  Philippines,  which  we  didn't  want,  and 
didn't  expect,  and  didn't  know  what  to  do  with,  President 
McKinley  sought  the  advice  of  a  commission.  Who  were 
they?  One  a  professor  of  Cornell,  one  a  professor  of 
Michigan  University.  The  day  of  the  educated  man  has 
come.  The  beginnings  of  the  college  in  America,  how 
small  they  were!  Elihu  Yale  contributed  $2,500  for  a 
college  in  New  Haven,  and  they  named  it  in  his  honor. 
Half  the  estate  of  John  Harvard  ($3,750)  was  the  founda- 
tion of  the  college  that  bore  his  name.  In  the  beginnings, 
the  college  was  a  luxury  not  to  be  endowed  by  the  State, 
but  by  the  bequests  of  rich  bachelors,  childless  widows,  and 
literary  spinsters.  When,  however,  new  States  were 
formed  they  were  settled  by  young  men.  As  children  grew 
up  they  could  not  wait  for  them  to  die  for  the  endowment 
of  colleges.  "Why,  then,"  said  they,  "should  not  the  State 
endow  the  college  as  well  as  maintain  the  common  school*?" 
And  it  was  so  done.  And  thus  it  has  come  to  pass  that  the 
most  progressive  communities  along  the  line  of  the  higher 
education  have  been  found  in  the  new  States. 

Then  again  how  much  has  been  done  for  higher  educa- 
tion by  the  gifts  of  the  wealthy  within  the  last  fifty  years, 
and  what  diverse  motives  and  seemingly  accidental  causes 
have  brought  these  things  about. 

Stephen  Girard  in  his  day  was  the  wealthiest  man  in 
America,  but  it  was  said  of  him  he  hadn't  a  friend.  He 
married;  lovely  children  were  born  to  him ;  they  died.  He 
idolized  his  wife;  she  became  insane  and  remained  so  all 
her  days.  Every  domestic  hope  was  shattered  and  he  clung 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  EDUCATION  113 

to  his  bank.  When  the  plague  visited  Philadelphia,  he  was 
a  hero;  when  public  health  returned,  he  went  back  to  his 
bank — unloved,  unappreciated.  When  Stephen  Girard  died 
they  found  that  out  of  that  starved  nature,  hungry  for  the 
love  and  affection  of  paternity,  had  sprung  his  will  whereby 
he  had  adopted  for  all  time,  so  far  as  his  fortune  would  go, 
every  orphan  and  half-orphan  boy  in  the  city  of  Philadel- 
phia. I  visited  Girard  College  more  than  twenty  years  ago ; 
I  found  there  about  twelve  hundred  boys,  clothed,  fed,  edu- 
cated. It  seemed  to  me  that  the  hunger  for  paternity,  which 
was  never  satisfied  in  life,  had  blossomed  and  ripened  into 
an  immortal  fruitage. 

Matthew  Vassar  made  beer,  oceans  of  it,  enough  to 
float  George  Dewey's  fleet  of  battle-ships,  cruisers,  torpedo 
boats  and  all.  He  made  money,  millions  of  it.  How  came 
that  wealth  to  be  diverted  to  the  higher  education  of  women? 
A  niece,  a  humble  school-teacher,  weak  in  the  flesh,  in  spirit 
strong,  was  God's  agent  in  the  alchemy  that  transformed 
Matthew  Vassar's  beer  into  that  noble  institution  on  the 
bank  of  the  Hudson,  known  as  Vassar  College. 

George  William  Curtis  told  how  Ezra  Cornell  and  he 
were  once  members  of  a  convention  where  there  were  many 
learned  men;  and  of  a  learned  man  Cornell  was  a  great 
admirer,  almost  a  worshiper.  A  speaker  used  a  Latin  quo- 
tation so  aptly  that  it  brought  down  the  house.  Cornell 
appealed  to  Curtis  to  explain  it.  He  did  so.  Bringing 
down  his  clenched  fist  with  great  earnestness,  Cornell  said: 
"I'm  going  to  start  a  school  where  boys  can  learn  enough  so 
they  needn't  ask  in  a  public  meeting  the  meaning  of  a  Latin 
quotation."  Thereafter  grew  up  Cornell  University. 


H4  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

Leland  Stanford  had  been  Governor  of  California.  He 
with  others  ventured  his  fortune  in  the  construction  of  the 
Central  Pacific  Railroad,  which  should  tie  with  iron  bands 
the  Pacific  to  the  Atlantic  coast.  Few  had  faith.  From  Sac- 
ramento they  pushed  on  towards  the  tawny  foothills;  then 
breasted  the  towering  Sierras ;  spanned  the  chasms  with  airy 
bridges;  dragged  the  iron  track  along  the  dizzy  mountain 
crag,  until  the  road  was  completed;  an  enterprise  beside 
which  the  great  road  of  Appius  Claudius,  known  as  the 
"Appian  Way,"  must  take  second  place.  Fame  came  to 
him ;  wealth  by  millions  rolled  in  upon  him.  Happy  in  his 
home,  justly  proud  of  an  only  child — his  son  who  should 
succeed  to  his  fortune,  name  and  fame — what  more  had  the 
world  to  offer?  But  death  snatched  the  boy.  How  small 
seemed  his  millions  then!  How  black  the  shadow!  Yet 
from  out  that  gloom  and  grief  has  grown  the  Leland  Stan- 
ford Jr.  University.  In  its  financial  endowment,  in  the 
breadth  of  its  plans  of  education,  in  its  equipment  of 
teachers,  led  as  its  presiding  genius  by  that  eminent  educator 
and  thinker,  David  Starr  Jordan,  I  do  not  now  recall  any  of 
the  new  institutions  of  learning  that  have  begun  with  such 
favorable  auspices  and  such  flattering  prospects  of  useful- 
ness. Its  influence  will  be  felt  long  after  the  railroad  is 
forgotten  and  its  rails  are  rust.  Surely — 

"There  is  a  Divinity  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough  hew  them  how  we  will." 


,A  «fourfy  of  Iful?  Oration 


at  San  TCorciuro  (Brove, 
4,  IS  75 


One  more  year  will  crown  a  century  since  the  Conti- 
nental Congress  of  the  thirteen  colonies  were  assembled  in 
Independence  Hall  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  then  scarcely 
larger  than  our  own  city  of  Oakland,  discussing  the  propo- 
sition of  national  independence.  On  the  seventh  of  June 
preceding,  Richard  Henry  Lee  of  Virginia  had  moved  as 
follows:  "Resolved,  That  these  united  colonies  are,  and  of 
right  ought  to  be,  free  and  independent  States."  This  was 
submitted  to  a  committee  of  five,  with  Thomas  Jefferson  at 
its  head.  Their  report  came  in  due  time,  and  for  several 
days  prior  to  the  fourth  of  July  had  been  under  discussion. 
It  had  become  publicly  known  that  probably  the  resolution 
would  pass.  On  that  morning  Congress  sat  with  closed 
doors.  Independence  Hall  was  surrounded  by  an  anxious, 
patriotic  throng.  The  belfry  was  surmounted  by  that  his- 
toric bell  bearing  imprinted  upon  it  the  Biblical  motto, 
"Proclaim  liberty  throughout  all  the  land  unto  all  the  inhabi- 
tants thereof."  Beneath,  through  all  that  July  morning,  sat 
the  bellman,  with  his  hand  upon  the  rope,  to  ring  out  the 
proclamation  of  freedom.  His  boy  was  waiting  at  the  doors 
of  Congress  to  be  the  first  to  bear  the  message  to  his  father. 
At  length,  at  two  o'clock,  the  summons  ran  like  wild-fire 
through  the  crowd,  "Ring,  old  man!  Ring!  "  And,  with 


n6  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

an  energy  born  of  long  and  patient  watching,  and  with  an 
inspiration,  fit  food  for  a  painter's  brush,  the  old  man  tugged 
at  the  rope;  the  brazen  mouth  and  silent  tongue  of  the  old 
bell  found  voice,  and,  true  to  its  inscription,  proclaimed 
"liberty  throughout  all  the  land,  unto  all  the  inhabitants 
thereof."  The  Declaration  of  Independence  was  thereupon 
issued. 

I  need  not  tell  you  it  became  the  constitution,  the  fun- 
damental law,  the  magna  charta  of  the  new-born  nation. 
Its  initial  sentence  that  "all  men  are  born  equal,  that  they 
are  endowed  by  their  Creator  with  certain  inalienable  rights, 
that  among  these  are  life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happi- 
ness," stands  as  the  cornerstone  of  all  our  institutions,  and 
it  has  shaped  to  a  large  extent  the  political  history  of  other 
countries.  It  is  to  celebrate  this  day  and  these  sentiments 
that  we  have  met.  And  it  is  befitting  at  every  recurring 
anniversary  of  this  occasion,  through  all  the  broad  domain 
of  these  United  States,  and  in  foreign  lands  wherever  an 
American  citizen  is  found,  and  upon  the  deck  of  every 
white-winged  messenger  of  American  commerce  that  the 
"flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home"  should  be  unfurled 
above  the  gathered,  joyful,  and  happy  millions  whom  it 
cherishes  and  protects. 

I  do  not  propose  to  recount  to  you  the  causes  leading 
to  the  war  of  the  Revolution.  They  are,  or  ought  to  be, 
known  to  every  schoolboy  and  girl  in  these  United  States. 
The  asserted  right  of  the  British  government  to  tax  the 
colonies  without  a  representation  in  Parliament;  the  Stamp 
Act,  the  Navigation  and  Trade  Act,  the  Boston  Port  Bill, 
the  battles  of  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill — all  preceding 


A   FOURTH   OF  JULY  ORATION  117 

the  Declaration  of  Independence — these  are  now  matters  of 
well-known  history,  taught  in  your  schools,  discussed  at  your 
firesides;  and  were  I  to  attempt  to  amplify,  I  doubt  not 
a  hundred  argus-eyed  critics  from  your  public  schools  are 
here  to  catch  me  tripping  on  historical  facts. 

Beyond  this,  however,  there  is  a  precious  unrecorded 
history  in  thousands  of  families — legends  of  what  their  an- 
cestors did  in  the  Revolution — handed  down  from  father  to 
son  like  precious  heirlooms,  not  for  their  importance,  but 
for  their  associations.  I  heard  from  my  father's  lips  what 
he  heard  from  his  grandfather,  a  captain  in  the  Continental 
army;  how  he  with  six  brothers  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder 
at  Bunker  Hill  in  the  hot  battle  of  that  June  afternoon, 
three  of  them  bearing  away  new  muskets — trophies  won 
from  conquered  foes.  This  unwritten  history  constitutes  a 
sort  of  American  heraldry.  And  yet  it  will  not  bear  too 
devoted  a  worship;  for  the  witticism  is  too  often  true,  that 
"the  family  tree  is  frequently  like  the  potato — its  better 
part  under  ground." 

The  last  participant  in  that  struggle  has  taken  his 
journey  across  that  silent  river  whither  we  are  all  tending. 
In  my  boyhood  I  remember  having  seen  many  old  Revolu- 
tionary soldiers,  and  a  sort  of  holy  awe  possessed  my  soul 
as  I  looked  upon  those,  to  me,  heroes  of  that  bloody  tragedy 
of  war.  One  by  one  they  passed  away,  until,  at  early  man- 
hood, I  can  not  now  remember  any  who  were  left.  At  the 
present  time  I  believe  there  are  but  two  persons  living  who 
have  any  personal  recollections  of  that  war,  and  they  are 
both  women  over  a  hundred  years  old.  Why,  then,  are  we 
met  here  today*?  Simply  because  it  is  the  Fourth  of  July, 


Ii8  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

or  because  a  century  ago  our  fathers  whipped  our  grand- 
fathers in  an  eight  years'  stand-up  fight?  Is  it  because  the 
overgrown,  spunky  daughter  had  "flaxed  out"  the  mother 
country?  It  can  not  be  that.  There  must  have  been  strong 
justification  to  warrant  such  conduct  in  a  court  of  justice; 
and  in  any  event  it  would  be  considered  not  a  very  credit- 
able episode  in  family  history. 

No,  it  is  not  that.  It  is  what  we  are;  it  is  the  results 
of  the  Revolution  that  we  celebrate,  and  it  is  this  alone 
which  we  have  any  right  to  celebrate.  What  the  fathers 
did  was  their  glory  and  what  we  affectionately  remember. 
What  we  have  done  and  what  we  are  doing  may  be  either 
the  subject  of  self -congratulation  or  of  reproach.  If  we 
have  not  built  up  a  noble  structure  upon  the  foundations 
so  worthily  prepared  for  us ;  if  we  have  not  done  something 
to  aid  in,  solving  the  problem  of  self-government  submitted 
to  us ;  if  we  are  not  a  more  prosperous,  a  happier,  a  better, 
and  a  wiser  people  than  our  ancestors  of  a  century  ago,  then 
I  say  the  Declaration  of  Independence  is  a  practical  nullity 
and  the  Fourth  of  July  is  in  vain. 

Now  there  is  no  way  in  which  we  can  improve  memo- 
rial occasions  like  this  better  than  to  put  ourselves  in  the 
place  of  the  actors  of  the  Revolution  and  make  ourselves 
feel  as  they  felt,  and  see  as  they  saw.  What  we  are  apt  to 
do  is  to  make  ourselves  think  that  the  fathers  of  the  repub- 
lic saw  things  as  we  see  them;  that  they  had  before  them  an 
ideal  nation,  whose  century  growth  should  show  40,000,000 
of  people  stretched  over  a  territory  washed  on  either  side 
by  the  waves  of  a  great  ocean,  gathering  from  the  cultured 
bosom  of  the  earth  the  products  of  every  zone;  her  com- 


A   FOURTH   OF   JULY   ORATION  119 

mercial  arteries  of  railroads,  rivers,  and  lakes,  strong,  throb- 
bing with  the  life-blood  of  a  rich  and  varied  commerce;  her 
valleys  and  hillsides  covered  with  a  happy,  industrious,  and 
a  patriotic  people ;  the  church-spire  and  the  schoolhouse,  the 
college  and  the  university,  the  homes  of  religion,  of  learning, 
and  of  art,  standing  the  frequent  sentinels  of  the  new-born 
liberty.  We  invest  them  with  the  prophet's  mantle.  The 
fact  is,  they  saw  no  such  visions;  they  had  no  such  ideal; 
they  were  fighting  for  the  present  and  for  principle.  Their 
wrongs  were  tangible;  they  proceeded  from  the  home  gov- 
ernment. They  knew  and  loved  their  rights,  and  they  knew 
those  rights  were  abused  and  violated.  As  Cromwell  said 
of  his  Ironsides,  "They  knew  what  they  were  fighting  for, 
and  they  loved  what  they  knew."  They  did  not  know  what 
was  to  supplant  the  government  of  tyranny  they  were  oppos- 
ing. They  did  know  that  taxpayers  should  have  a  voice  as 
to  what  taxes  should  be  raised  and  how  spent — a  principle 
which  their  children  of  today  are  beginning  to  press  home  to 
the  attention  of  their  national  and  local  governments.  They 
did  know  that  law,  not  men,  should  be  their  ruler,  and  that 
justice  should  come  without  delay,  without  measure,  with- 
out price,  and  even-handed. 

There  is  a  sort  of  vague,  unexpressed,  animate,  but  un- 
formed feeling  with  many  of  us  that  it  is  a  greater  thing  to 
vote  or  to  hold  office  under  this  great  government  of  ours 
than  to  have  fought  the  battles  of  the  Revolution;  that 
what  they  were  aimlessly  working  for  we  have  accom- 
plished. But,  my  friends,  let  us  compare  for  a  moment  their 
pioneering  and  ours.  I  honor  the  California  "forty-niner." 
I  honor  the  man  who  had  the  pluck  to  leave  home  and 


120  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

friends  for  the  tents  and  cabins  of  the  gulch  and  the  bar. 
I  honor  the  man  whose  enterprise  led  him  to  venture  health 
and  life  in  the  hope  to  pluck  fortune  from  the  floods  and 
rocks  and  sands  of  the  California  mines.  I  honor  the  hero 
of  the  washbowl  and  rocker  —  independent,  self-reliant, 
belted  round  with  defensive  knife  and  revolver.  He  paved 
the  way  for  the  civilization  we  enjoy.  He  was  a  pioneer 
worthy  the  enlightened  respect  of  any  age  and  any  nation. 

As  the  years  roll  away  in  prosperity  we  sometimes  for- 
get that  every  soldier  who  died  on  the  field  of  battle  in  those 
old  times,  or  in  the  loathsome  prison  ships,  left  broken  hearts 
at  home.  In  the  nearer  present,  however,  we  have  had  ex- 
periences to  bind  ourselves  with  everlasting  chains  to  our 
national  birthday.  The  armless  sleeve  and  the  halting  gait 
too  often  remind  us  of  a  war  more  recent.  There  is  scarcely 
a  family  among  us  which,  in  some  branch  of  it,  near  or 
remote,  has  not  borne  away  its  lifelong  load  of  grief  from 
the  grave  of  some  darling  hero  of  the  late  rebellion.  There 
are  those  before  me  who  wore  the  blue  and  fought  the  fight. 
To  the  living  and  the  dead  I  bow  in  reverent  homage.  War 
is  sufficiently  terrible  at  the  present  day ;  death  and  devasta- 
tion are  its  accompaniments  in  all  ages  and  everywhere. 
But  the  pioneering  and  the  fighting  of  Revolutionary  days 
were  not  like  ours.  It  has  been  truly  said :  "There  has  been 
no  pioneering  in  our  day  half  as  hard  as  theirs."  No  man 
who  has  pushed  out  into  the  wilderness  with  the  United 
States  behind  him  and  all  hope  and  pride  of  its  citizenship 
in  his  heart  has  ever  displayed  anything  like  the  fortitude  of 
the  men  who  settled  the  Connecticut  valley,  with  nothing 
but  a  feeble  colony  at  their  backs  and  separated  from  all  the 


A   FOURTH   OF  JULY   ORATION  121 

great  forces  of  historic  civilization  by  what  was  to  them  a 
vast  and  impassable  ocean,  beyond  which  the  elect  struggled 
hopelessly  against  pope  and  king.  There  has  been  no  fight- 
ing in  our  day  which  expresses  a  tithe  of  the  courage  of  those 
volunteers,  who,  without  any  recognized  political  organiza- 
tion to  support  them,  without  general  officers  or  commis- 
sariat, and  with  the  blackest  uncertainty  about  the  future, 
lined  the  intrenchment  of  Bunker  Hill  a  hundred  years  ago. 
They  fought  for  the  right;  and  the  right  was  to  them  a 
tangible  and  present  reality — so  real  that  not  the  reverses 
of  Long  Island  and  White  Plains  could  swerve  them  from 
their  high  purpose.  Not  with  too  much  pride  then,  not  with 
too  much  patriotism,  not  with  too  deep  and  holy  a  reverence, 
can  we  approach  the  shrine  of  our  worship. 

Now  I  have  said  that  in  these  centennial  times  we  ought 
to  make  ourselves  feel  as  the  Revolutionary  fathers  felt — 
that  we  ought  to  put  ourselves  in  their  places.  And  this  in- 
cludes not  only  the  tragedy  of  war  and  the  drama  of  pioneer- 
ing, but  also  the  comedy  of  social  life ;  how  they  looked  and 
dressed,  and  upon  what  meat  they  fed.  There  is  no  more 
fascinating  feature  of  history  than  what  might  be  termed 
its  social  department.  Macaulay  has  added  a  grace  and 
charm  to  English  history  unknown  before  by  his  illumina- 
tion of  the  daily  walks  of  life  and  the  habits  of  the  people 
whose  history  he  wrote.  He  sought  his  historic  materials 
among  the  debris  of  centuries — in  private  diaries,  in  old 
letters,  in  ancient  ballads,  in  the  book  accounts  of  shopmen, 
which  had  escaped  the  destroying  hand  of  time,  and  in 
countless  other  avenues,  requiring  that  skill  and  acuteness 
of  research  in  which  that  historian  had  no  equal. 


122  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

Without  presuming  to  follow  in  such  illustrious  foot- 
steps, I  call  your  attention  for  a  moment  to  the  daily  social 
life  of  our  grandfathers,  the  memory  of  which  has  scarcely 
passed  into  the  domain  of  history.  John  Phoenix  quaintly 
emphasized  the  difference  between  the  present  and  the  past 
where  he  said  that  "Washington,  although  for  the  time  in 
which  he  lived  he  was  a  very  distinguished  man,  yet  he 
never  traveled  on  a  steamboat,  never  saw  a  railroad  or  loco- 
motive engine,  was  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  principle  of  the 
magnetic  telegraph,  never  had  a  daguerreotype,  Colt's  pistol, 
Sharpe's  rifle,  or  used  a  friction  match."  And  it  was 
Washington's  misfortune  to  have  lived  in  what  to  Phoenix 
seemed  such  rude  times.  No  less  rude  were  they  in  other 
walks  of  life.  Imagine  a  farmer  gathering  sheaves  with 
sickles  and  cutting  grass  with  scythes,  who  never  dreamed 
of  mowing  machines,  reapers,  headers,  threshers,  gang- 
plows,  or  hay-presses,  and  you  have  something  of  the  farmer 
of  a  hundred  years  ago.  The  gorgeous  granger  palaces 
within  rifle-shot  of  where  we  stand  would  be  to  him  an 
eighth  wonder  of  the  world. 

Imagine  your  chairman  of  the  day  here,  or  your  chap- 
lain, entering  the  pulpit  with  wig  and  gown  and  band,  and 
on  the  street  wearing  a  cocked  hat,  and  you  have  something 
of  the  exterior  of  the  clergymen  of  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Imagine  Governor  Booth  and  Governor  Haight  dining  out, 
powdered  and  bewigged,  a  six-inch-wide  stock  beneath  a 
daily  shaven  face,  white  satin  enbroidered  waist-coat,  black 
satin  small  clothes,  white  silk  stockings  and  fine  broadcloth 
or  velvet  coat,  and  after  dinner,  or  at  casual  meetings,  ex- 
tending the  snuff-box  as  men  today  extend  the  cigar-case, 


A   FOURTH   OF  JULY  ORATION  123 

and  you  have  something  of  the  exterior  of  the  gentleman  of 
a  hundred  years  ago.  Imagine  Governor  Booth's  mother 
or  Governor  Haight's  wife  at  a  party  dressed  in  those  rich 
brocaded  silks,  which  are  yet  the  subject  of  feminine  ad- 
miration, with  hair  powdered  and  pomatumed  above  their 
heads,  "way  up,"  higher  than  the  most  ambitious  woman 
of  today — at  home  engaged  in  sewing  or  knitting  those 
famous  silk  stockings  or  good,  honest,  blue  woolen  ones, 
or  assisting  their  black  servants  in  spinning  and  weaving — 
who  knew  nothing  of  the  luxury  of  the  sewing  machine,  the 
kitchen  stove  or  the  French  range;  whose  cooking  was  done 
in  open  fireplaces  and  good  brick  ovens — and  you  have 
something  of  the  exterior  of  the  lady  of  a  hundred  years 
ago.  The  gentleman  and  the  lady  then  as  ever  compelled 
homage  from  true  hearts  loyal  to  real  nobility  wherever  and 
whenever  found. 

The  lesson  of  the  hour  is  an  important  one.  The  ex- 
ample of  the  fathers  shows  how  dear  to  liberty  is  that  con- 
viction of  right  which  weighed  "life,  fortune,  and  sacred 
honor"  as  light  in  the  balance  against  it.  It  shows,  too, 
that  nations  no  more  than  persons  can  sin  and  go  un- 
punished. The  avenging  Deity,  though  he  comes  with  tardy 
step  and  with  feet  shod  with  wool,  comes  with  unerring 
certainty,  "visiting  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers  upon  the 
children  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation."  It  is  this 
sensitive  conscience  of  justice  which  in  later  times  has  been 
fruitful  of  the  most  thrilling  passages  of  our  national  his- 
tory. The  time  has  now  come  when  slavery  is  no  longer  a 
political  issue ;  where  there  is  no  divided  opinion  concerning 
its  abstract  or  practical  injustice;  when  it  has  gone  into  his- 


124  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

tory  to  be  judged  for  what  it  was.  I  refer  to  it  now  only  to 
point  the  moral  of  the  day.  The  truths  of  the  Declaration 
of  Independence  are  ever  new  and  ever  applicable.  When 
Jefferson  incorporated  among  the  inalienable  human  rights 
— life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness — so  long  as 
the  nation  was  true  to  its  charter,  human  slavery  could  not 
exist  or  be  recognized.  But  it  did  exist  and  it  was  recog- 
nized; and  the  Constitution  of  these  free  United  States  and 
the  laws  framed  thereunder  were  a  protection  to  it — a  com- 
promise of  right  with  wrong — an  implied  avowal  that  life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  are  not  the  inalienable 
rights  of  all  men.  The  keen  vision  of  Jefferson  saw  the  fatal 
variance  between  theory  and  practice,  and  seeing  it  he  wrote : 
"I  tremble  for  my  country  when  I  remember  that  God  is 
just."  Had  he  lived  to  our  day  he  would  have  sung: 

"Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord, 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are  stored : 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  his  terrible  swift  sword; 
His  truth  is  marching  on." 

The  fathers  were  quick  to  know  and  defend  their  own 
rights,  but  they  were  too  tardy  in  recognizing  the  right  to 
liberty  of  their  slaves.  The  great  national  spelling-book — 
the  Declaration  of  Independence — was  the  leaven  which 
leavened  the  whole  lump.  The  entire  South  are  paying 
today  the  penalty  of  their  national  sin  in  a  prostrated  com- 
merce, prostrate  industry,  millions  of  people  uneducated, 
ignorant,  unused  to  freedom  and  invested  with  the  powers  of 
government,  and  whom  nothing  short  of  generations  of 
education  and  civilization  can  promote  to  the  condition  an 
American  citizen  ought  to  attain.  The  nation,  North  and 


A   FOURTH   OF  JULY   ORATION  125 

South,  are  further  paying  the  penalty  of  the  national  sin 
in  the  millions  of  national  debt,  in  the  loose  morals  and 
extravagance,  the  want  of  public  and  private  virtue  which 
war  always  breeds,  and  in  an  unredeemable  currency;  evils 
which  only  the  careful  education  and  watchfulness  of 
generations  can  overcome.  It  shows,  too,  how  important 
is  the  education  of  the  individual  conscience  in  respect  to 
the  national  ethics.  It  is  a  duty  I  commend  to  you 
teachers,  to  you  fathers  and  mothers,  and  to  you  clergy- 
men, to  teach  your  charge  that  there  should  be  no  com- 
promise with  conscience.  Concession  to  wrong  is  always 
dangerous.  Infuse  into  the  young  that  moral  backbone 
which  stands  by  its  convictions  regardless  of  its  results. 
Then  shall  your  schoolrooms,  your  hearthstones,  and  your 
pulpits  be  thrones  to  govern  a  nation  in  wisdom,  justice  and 
honor.  Men  so  taught  might  not  submit  to  the  ruling  of 
the  caucus  or  the  dictum  of  party.  The  demagogue  would 
seek  other  men  for  his  purposes.  "Bolting"  might  be  com- 
mon, but  the  world  would  move,  and  government  be  im- 
proved because  of  them. 

One  more  suggestion  and  I  have  done.  "Eternal 
vigilance,"  said  Patrick  Henry,  "is  the  price  of  liberty." 
The  only  permanent  basis  of  a  republican  government  is 
the  sleepless  vigilance  of  an  educated  citizenship;  because 
under  it,  every  citizen  is  a  law-maker  and  king.  The 
heaviest  strain  upon  our  free  institutions  has  been  its  rapidly 
accumulating  class  of  ignorant  voters.  I  have  referred  to 
the  millions  of  ignorant  blacks  whose  fallen  manacles  have 
been  replaced  by  the  right  to  vote.  Besides  these  there  are 
the  annual  hordes  of  ignorant  foreign-born  immigrants, 


126  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

unused  to  our  institutions,  unacquainted  with  our  laws,  fre- 
quently not  speaking  our  language ;  and  yet  a  five  years'  resi- 
dence and  the  oath  to  support  a  Constitution,  which  they 
never  read  or  heard  of,  invest  them  with  the  royal  robes  of  an 
American  monarch.  The  theory  of  our  naturalization  laws 
is  most  excellent,  and  yet  all  of  you  who  have  attended 
courts  know  how  loosely  are  conducted  examinations  for 
citizenship;  no  inquiry  as  to  education,  or  whether  he  has 
ever  read  or  can  read  the  Constitution  he  swears  to  support; 
no  scrutiny  into  his  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the 
government  in  which  he  is  to  become  a  prince.  Nay,  often 
the  court  has  before  it  the  signature  of  the  applicant — a 
cross — the  shameless  confession  of  an  ignorance  which  ought 
to  debar  him  from  the  privilege  he  seeks.  And  I  say  this 
not  in  reproach  of  foreigners,  but  only  in  reproach  of 
ignorance.  Our  intelligent,  educated,  sturdy,  foreign-born 
citizens,  adopting  and  cherishing  American  institutions  and 
American  liberty,  have  been  and  are  the  bulwark  of  the 
republic.  From  their  ranks  we  have  had  a  Brady  and  an 
O'Connor  at  the  bar,  the  eloquent  and  patriotic  Baker,  and 
the  scholarly  statesman,  Carl  Schurz. 

Nor  is  our  native-born  citizen  free  from  this  kind  of 
ignorance.  Not  long  ago  I  was  called  upon  in  my  official 
capacity  to  approve  the  bond  of  one  of  your  county  officers, 
appointed  by  the  supervisors,  and  his  oath  to  support  the 
Constitution  was  supplemented  by  his  sign-manual  in  the 
shape  of  a  saw-buck.  It  was  the  hope  of  an  English  states- 
man, expressed  in  Parliament  on  the  discussion  of  an 
educational  bill,  that  every  Englishman  might  be  able  to 
read  Bacon;  to  which  his  witty  and  more  practical 


A   FOURTH   OF  JULY   ORATION  127 

opponent  replied  that  he  hoped  first  to  see  the  day  when 
every  Englishman  might  be  able  to  eat  bacon.  Many  of 
our  citizens  have  spent  their  early  years  beyond  the  borders 
of  civilization  and  the  reach  of  the  spelling-book  and 
common  school,  where  life  has  been  an  incessant  contest 
for  the  bacon  of  commerce  with  no  leisure  to  seek  the  Bacon 
of  philosophy.  To  such,  ignorance  is  no  reproach,  only  a 
misfortune. 

But  among  all  classes  we  know  so  little  of  our  own 
government.  Take  a  canvass  of  the  crowd  around  me  and 
how  many  there  are  who  can  not  tell  the  number  of  presi- 
dential electors  California  is  entitled  to,  what  is  her 
representation  in  Congress,  or  even  how  the  President  is 
elected!  And  yet,  such  men  are  your  princes,  with  the 
powers  of  government  in  their  ballots!  Is  it  astonishing, 
then,  that  your  elections  sometimes  play  such  fantastic 
tricks*? 

The  hope  of  the  future  is  in  the  culture  of  the  young. 
Therefore,  I  say,  educate  your  children  in  the  principles  of 
government;  teach  them  the  Constitution  in  all  its  details; 
let  your  boys  all  be  what  the  theory  of  your  government 
intends  they  shall  be — politicians — not  in  its  grosser  sense 
of  seeking  by  stratagem  and  ways  that  are  dark  a  place 
upon  the  body  politic  where  they  may  feed  like  famished 
harpies  upon  the  substance  of  the  people;  but  politicians  in 
the  true  meaning  of  statesmen.  Shakespeare  makes  the 
fallen  Cardinal  Wolsey  say  to  his  friend  Cromwell, 

"Be  just  and  fear  not; 

Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at,  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's  and  truth's." 


128  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

You  admit  the  nobility  of  the  sentiment.  In  the 
church  and  the  Sabbath-school  and  by  your  fireside  you 
teach  to  your  children  the  reverent  duty  they  owe  to  God; 
in  every  avenue  of  life  you  visit  with  infamy  and  shame 
the  man  whose  lying  lips  are  false  to  truth;  and  shall  we 
neglect  to  enforce  upon  the  plastic  mind  of  youth  that 
country,  no  less  than  God  and  truth,  shall  be  life's  chiefest 
aim*? 

Yea,  and  educate  your  daughters  in  like  manner.  In- 
novation stalks  through  the  years  with  giant  strides.  It 
is  within  the  memory  of  the  young  when  the  portals  of 
every  college  were  closed  to  the  girls;  when  no  medical 
school  dared  admit  a  woman  to  lectures;  when  anathemas 
emanated  from  the  pulpit  against  her  who  preached.  That 
day  is  passed.  Colleges  recognize  no  longer  sex  in  the 
empire  of  intellect.  Even  at  conservative  old  Harvard 
the  doors  swung  tardily  back,  and  brother  and  sister  walk 
side  by  side  along  the  pleasant  paths  of  science  and  of 
literature.  Nature's  nurse  of  humankind  receives  her 
diploma  of  skill  in  the  healing  art.  The  church  has  learned 
that  the  sexless  soul  speaks  God's  truth  through  woman's 
mouth  as  well  as  man's.  The  day  is  coming,  and  is  not 
far  distant,  when  she  will  ask  and  receive  the  right  to  vote. 

There  are  thousands  of  women  who,  by  education  and 
intelligence,  are  worthy  the  privilege.  But  there  are  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  who  are  unworthy.  I  tell  you  women 
of  America  to  vote  you  should  at  least  know  politics  from 
polonaise,  constitution  from  cosmetics,  laws  from  laces,  and 
rights  from  ribbons.  The  lesson  of  the  day  reaches  out  in 
circles  ever  widening  and  in  boundless  perspective.  I  am 


A   FOURTH   OF  JULY  ORATION  129 

no  optimist;  but  I  believe  in  my  country's  future.  Its 
people  are  today  better  fed,  better  clad,  richer,  more  pros- 
perous and  better  educated  than  they  were  a  hundred  years 
ago.  The  great  man  of  today  must  be  greater  than  the 
great  man  of  a  century  ago,  because  giants  surround  him. 
The  common  school  and  the  newspaper  have  multiplied  a 
thousandfold  the  national  intelligence.  The  time  will  come 
when  government  will  be  through  the  educated  ballot  and 
its  machinery  will  not  be  held  as  the  victors'  spoils.  The 
march  of  the  republic  is  onward  and  upward;  and  if  some- 
times its  course  has  been  enveloped  in  clouds,  and  storms 
have  raged  around  its  pathway,  when  the  tempest  has  passed 
and  the  clouds  have  lifted,  it  has  gathered  up  its  forces,  and 
marched  on  in  the  sunshine  of  an  increasing  prosperity. 

I  believe  that  when  another  hundred  years  have  passed 
away,  when  our  dust  shall  have  mingled  with  its  kindred 
dust,  and  our  children's  children  shall  stand  upon  the 
mountain  heights  of  the  world's  progress,  they  will  behold 
here  a  continent  prolific  in  all  the  blessed  fruits  of  a 
Christian  civilization. 


Society  an6  fye  Saloon 


Mta6e  tlje  Spcecl)  Ifere  (Blven  In 
lit  IS  74 

"This  Local  Option  Campaign  is  carried  on  by  a  lot  of 
crazy,  fanatical,  praying  women,  who  don't  know  what 
they  want." 

I  have  been  advertised  to  speak  to  you  as  a  representa- 
tive of  the  devil's  church  —  that  is,  the  great  body  of  people 
outside  the  Christian  church,  and  that  is  the  text  from 
which  I  propose  to  preach  you  a  short  sermon.  You  will  find 
it  in  the  gospel  of  the  license  advocates.  I  heard  it  ex- 
pressed in  that  way  down  here  at  the  blacksmith  shop  the 
other  day,  and  you  will  hear  it  repeated  twenty  times  daily 
in  every  saloon  in  the  State.  My  sermon  is  not  addressed 
to  the  Christian  church,  and  if  there  are  any  church  members 
here,  I  say  to  you,  my  sermon  is  not  for  you;  you  need  no 
conversion.  It  can  not  be,  it  is  impossible,  it  is  monstrous 
to  suppose  that  any  man  or  woman  can  believe  in  the 
Christian  religion  as  accepted  by  the  orthodox  church  —  can 
believe  that  no  drunkard  will  enter  the  gates  of  heaven; 
and  that  all  of  his  kind  must  share  that  punishment  whose 
eternal  torments  are  described  by  the  burning  lake  and  the 
sulphurous  smoke.  It  can  not  be  that,  with  a  knowledge  of 
all  the  facts  connected  with  the  retail  liquor  trade,  a 

*  In  1873  the  California  Legislature  passed  the  Local  Option  Law, 
which  was  followed  by  exciting  contests  in  many  cities  and  towns  for  the 
establishment  of  local  prohibition.  After  many  towns  had  voted  for  the 
closing  of  the  saloons,  the  Supreme  Court  declared  the  law  unconstitutional. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  SALOON  131 

Christian  can  be  a  Christian  and  yet  favor  or  wink  at  in  any 
way  the  continuance  of  the  traffic.  And  how  much  more 
than  impossible  must  it  be  that  a  man  be  a  minister  of  the 
Gospel,  a  man  whose  every  energy  of  body  and  soul  is  dedi- 
cated to  God's  service  and  the  salvation  of  souls — I  say  how 
much  more  than  impossible  must  it  be  that  at  the  present 
crisis  he  should  fail  to  blow  the  gospel  trumpet  and  in  such 
a  manner  that  it  give  no  uncertain  sound !  I  speak  to  you 
the  truth  as  I  understand  it  and  as  I  hope  to  make  you  under- 
stand it.  And  I  say  to  you  that  my  text  is  not  true;  it  is 
not  true  that  women  and  fanatics  are  the  only  parties  in  this 
fight.  It  is  represented  by  priest  and  layman,  by  Catholic 
and  Protestant,  by  Christian  men  and  women  everywhere; 
but  above  and  beyond  all  by  that  innumerable  throng  of  men 
who,  like  you  and  me,  have  adopted  the  custom  of  the  com- 
munity in  which  we  find  ourselves  and  take  an  occasional, 
or  a  frequent,  social  drink,  but  always  with  a  mental  protest 
against  a  useless,  a  senseless,  and  even  a  dangerous  custom, 
and  one  which  we  feel  is  better  kept  in  the  breach  than  in 
the  observance.  And  right  here  I  wish  to  say,  I  have  neither 
bitter  words  nor  bitter  feelings  for  any  man,  be  he  liquor 
seller  or  liquor  drinker,  be  he  for  license  or  against  license. 
That  must  be  a  weak  cause  which  finds  its  support  in  anger 
and  not  in  argument,  in  temper  and  not  in  talent.  The  law 
has  made  the  retail  liquor  dealer  my  political  equal,  and  I 
can  not  conceive  how  our  social  equality  is  changed,  so  long 
as  you  and  I  take  a  drink  with  him  or  at  his  bar.  It  is  you 
and  I  who  take  a  drink  that  make  his  business  possible  and 
respectable.  He  acts  upon  the  plainest  business  principle. 
You  and  I  create  the  demand;  he  supplies  it.  If  any  blame 


132  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

attaches,  does  it  not  belong  as  much  to  us  as  to  him?  More- 
over, I  recognize  the  fact  that  the  average  saloon-keeper  is 
as  good  an  average  man  as  community  affords.  There  are 
scoundrels  among  them;  so  there  are  in  every  calling  or 
profession  in  life.  True,  he  is  tenacious  of  the  whisky  trade ; 
and  why  not?  Men  seek  those  avenues  of  business  where 
the  profits  are  large  and  the  labor  light.  And  when  we  get 
a  good  thing  we  keep  it.  You  and  I  know,  everybody  knows, 
that  the  business  is  not  respectable,  not  exactly  the  thing. 
Nevertheless,  where  a  respectable  community  patronize  the 
trade,  though  it  be  carried  on  behind  screens  and  painted 
windows,  beyond  the  sight  of  women  and  children,  in  these 
money-getting  times,  I  can  conceive  that  it  does  not  require 
any  great  elasticity  of  the  ordinary  business  conscience  to 
pursue  the  trade  as  a  method  of  making  an  easy  living,  al- 
though the  ruin  that  it  works  is  sometimes  most  glaringly 
apparent.  They  eat  and  drink.  They  pay  their  taxes.  They 
love  their  families  and  feed  and  clothe  them  well.  They 
support  schools,  and  some,  the  churches ;  and  if  we  feel  that 
their  perceptions  are  warped  and  prejudiced  by  their  trade, 
and  if  some  of  them  meet  our  cause  with  harsh  words  and 
foul  language,  they  are  nevertheless  men,  to  be  treated  like 
men,  to  be  met  by  argument,  not  by  abuse.  And  to  them  I 
speak — and  to  men  like  myself  who  now  and  then  take  a 
drink,  I  speak. 

Now,  what  is  the  cause  of  this  "local  option"  move- 
ment, or  crusade,  as  you  call  it?  You  know  the  early  his- 
tory of  California.  In  the  mines  there  first  came  the  pros- 
pectors, then  a  mining  camp;  and  the  first  institution  there 
was  the  saloon,  which  was  the  merchants'  exchange,  the  par- 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  SALOON  133 

lor,  the  clubroom,  the  political,  commercial  and  social  cen- 
ter of  the  camp.  The  family  did  not  exist;  every  sale  was 
made  binding  by  a  drink.  Friendships  were  cemented  by  a 
drink;  enmities  were  healed  with  a  drink.  Drinks  followed 
deaths,  marriages,  and  births.  Drinks  were  the  common 
social  solvents  in  prosperity  and  adversity.  California's  first 
Legislature  has  gone  down  to  history  as  the  Legislature  of  a 
thousand  drinks;  and  I  think  I  am  correct  in  saying  that 
every  Legislature  since,  even  the  last,  has  followed  in  the 
steps  of  its  illustrious  predecessor  and  emulated  its  reputa- 
tion in  that  regard. 

And  as  population  and  business  spread  out  into  the 
valleys  and  upon  the  hillsides,  and  agriculture  and  vinicul- 
ture became  leading  and  wealth-giving  pursuits,  the  saloon 
followed,  and  even  now,  long  after  families  and  beautiful 
homes  have  supplanted  the  bachelor's  cabin,  we  find  it  still 
the  popular  resort.  It  springs  up  at  every  cross-road  and 
beside  every  blacksmith  shop.  It  forms  the  home,  more  than 
any  other  place,  of  more  than  half  the  floating  population  of 
California,  and  upon  them  the  California  farmer  has  been 
dependent  for  his  harvest  labor.  Here  the  facilities  for  cards 
and  whisky  induced  drinking  and  gambling  habits.  The 
working  man  on  Sunday  spent  all  the  money  earned  during 
the  week  for  whisky,  and  Monday  morning  the  farmer 
often  found  himself  with  harvest  machinery  and  horses  on 
his  hands  worth  thousands  of  dollars  and  at  a  daily  expense 
of  hundreds  of  dollars — all  compelled  to  be  idle  because  one- 
fourth  of  his  men  were  not  sufficiently  recovered  from  the 
Sunday's  drunk  to  do  duty  on  the  farm.  Every  large  farmer 
has  been  compelled  to  abandon  white  labor  in  the  harvest 


134  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

field  and  resort  to  the  hated  Chinaman,  who  as  yet  is  too 
barbarous  to  visit  civilized  saloons,  drink  civilized  whisky 
and  play  the  enlightened  game  of  sell-out. 

Ask  any  of  the  numerous  large  farmers  around  here, 
all  of  them  owning  hundreds  and  some  of  them  thousands  of 
acres  of  grain,  and  they  will  tell  you,  every  one,  that  that 
was  the  original  cause  which  supplanted  white  labor  with 
Chinese.  And  yet  the  loudest  curses  against  the  Chinaman 
come  from  saloon-keepers  and  saloon-frequenters — the  very 
cause  that  shuts  out  the  white  man  and  gives  his  place  to 
the  Chinaman. 

Again,  men  look  over  the  last  ten  or  fifteen  years  and 
they  find  vast  numbers  of  men  who  have  died  with  their 
boots  on;  and  they  find  that  they  have  mostly  fallen  in 
drunken  broils  and  altercations,  and  within  easy  pistol  shot 
of  a  whisky  bottle.  Again,  they  have  seen  our  police  court 
calendars  full  of  cases,  and  more  than  half  of  them  for  being 
drunk  and  disorderly.  They  have  seen  men  in  a  few  years 
create  an  appetite  for  stimulants  which  their  after  life  can 
never  control.  They  get  disgusted  with  the  tyrannous  cus- 
tom of  treating  on  every  occasion.  They  have  seen  the 
saloons  at  each  succeeding  election  exert  a  controlling  politi- 
cal influence  and  corrupt  the  fountains  of  government  by 
selling  that  influence  for  gold,  and  they  have  asked  them- 
selves, Is  there  no  relief?  Why  not  wipe  out  this  useless 
and  dangerous  custom,  this  corrupting  political  power,  by 
wiping  out  the  retail  liquor  trade  and  all  the  evils  that  flow 
from  it? 

This  sentiment  finds  expression  in  the  Local  Option 
Law.  It  gives  to  each  township,  city,  or  town  the  right  to 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  SALOON  135 

say  by  a  majority  vote  whether  or  not  it  will  have  the  retail 
liquor  trade.  It  was  drawn  by  Senator  Pendegast  of  Napa, 
himself  a  drinking  man;  it  was  passed  by  a  whisky-drinking 
Senate  and  afterwards  by  a  whisky-drinking  Assembly;  it 
was  signed  and  approved  by  a  whisky-drinking  and  whisky- 
selling  Governor,  and  I  speak  advisedly  when  I  say  that  so 
far  it  has  been  carried  at  the  polls  by  whisky-drinking  voters ; 
and  it  does  seem  as  if  it  now  comes  with  a  very  ill  grace  from 
whisky  dealers  to  complain  that  it  is  unconstitutional.  It 
acts  upon  the  utmost  democratic  principle.  It  seeks  the 
greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number.  It  says  to  the  com- 
munities in  each  town,  township,  or  city,  "Choose  you  now 
whether  you  will  have  saloons  or  no." 

I  have  said  that  the  opponents  of  this  law  complain  that 
it  is  unconstitutional.  It  is  surprising  what  hordes  of  consti- 
tutional lawyers  this  law  has  begotten.  They  spring  up  in 
every  saloon  like  toads  after  a  summer  shower  for  number, 
ranged,  and  discussing  upon  either  side — men  whom  Judge 
Story  and  Chancellor  Kent  and  Judge  Cooley  have  failed  to 
mention  in  their  books  as  authorities  on  constitutional  law. 
I  do  not  propose  to  consider  that  question.  I  have  never 
thoroughly  studied  and  examined  it;  and  if  I  had  I  should 
not  consider  the  lecture  room  or  the  hustings  the  proper  place 
for  me  to  argue  and  decide  the  question.  When  the  question 
comes  before  me  in  my  judicial  character  and  after  a  full 
argument  and  mature  consideration  I  shall  decide  it  as  the 
law  seems  to  be. 

What  we  are  called  upon  to  determine  is  whether  we 
prefer  a  community  with  a  licensed  retail  liquor  business,  as 
it  now  is,  or  a  community  with  no  retail  liquor  trade  at  all. 


136  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

It  is  the  province  of  the  courts  to  determine  its  legality.  If 
they  shall  decide  it  to  be  constitutional,  then  let  it  be  en- 
forced. If  it  shall  be  held  illegal  and  unconstitutional,  or 
if  we  find  that  it  can  not  be  practically  enforced,  then  we 
shall  have  expressed  our  opinion  on  the  saloon  question,  and 
the  next  Legislature  will  be  in  a  position  to  know  the  public 
sentiment  and  to  act  accordingly. 

Now  I  propose  to  look  at  the  question  in  its  most  sordid 
sense — as  a  question  of  coin,  as  a  question  of  political  econ- 
omy, and  as  a  question  of  social  economy.  I  have  been 
taught  that  the  underlying  principle  of  a  thriving  State  is 
a  community  of  no  drones,  a  community  of  wealth-makers. 
The  cry  of  our  newspapers  is  that  we  lack  population.  Our 
State  and  federal  governments  take  annual,  quinquennial  or 
decennial  statistics  of  our  lands,  our  cattle,  our  grain,  our 
prices,  and  our  population.  We  form  immigration  societies, 
and  these  statistics  so  gathered  are  published  in  books  and 
pamphlets  and  spread  broadcast  throughout  the  Eastern 
States  and  Europe.  For  what^  To  draw  hither  the  sur- 
plus population  of  those  countries  to  develop  the  hidden 
treasures  of  our  mines,  to  pile  up  the  garnered  wheat  from 
our  fertile  valleys,  to  develop  the  latent  wealth  which  exists 
in  a  thousand  forms  and  which  needs  but  human  life  and 
energy  to  utilize.  Every  mature  immigrant  represents  an 
actual  cash  capital  in  producing  value  of  at  least  $1,500 — 
a  slave  negro  used  to  be  worth  that — a  freeman  is  worth 
more.  And  hence  in  these  United  States,  where  we  are 
receiving  an  adult  immigration  of,  say,  200,000  annually, 
there  is  thereby  added  to  the  value  of  the  national  working 
capital  the  sum  of  $300,000,000,  and  the  countries  from 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  SALOON  137 

which  we  draw  that  population  are  by  so  much  the  poorer. 
Hence  it  is  that  English  and  German  statesmen  look  with 
so  much  alarm  upon  the  crowded  emigrant  ships  which 
weekly  and  daily  leave  their  ports. 

From  a  money  point  of  view  that  immigration  is  valu- 
able only  so  far  as  it  is  a  wealth  producer.  When  he  ceases  to 
furnish  something  which  will  feed  or  clothe  or  make  better 
the  community  of  which  he  forms  a  part,  a  man  becomes  a 
drone,  an  idler,  and  a  useless  incumbrance.  Now  in  these 
granger  times,  when  the  middlemen  and  the  non-producers 
are  under  the  ban,  let  us  ask  what  position  does  the  retail 
liquor  seller  occupy  in  the  body  politick  You  give  him  your 
bit,  and  what  do  you  get  in  return?  A  thimbleful  of  whisky 
or  gin;  and  the  bit  passes  out  and  the  gin  passes  in  a  half 
dozen  times  a  day.  And  how  are  you  better  off?  Is  it  food? 
Is  it  medicine?  Are  you  a  better  or  happier  man  for  it?  It  is 
not  food;  every  chemist  will  tell  you  so.  It  is  not  medicine; 
if  you  have  got  into  your  head  any  such  insane  fancy,  just 
ask  your  doctors.  They  will  give  you  a  little  daylight  on 
that  question. 

Not  a  respectable  graduate  in  medicine,  even  the  most 
earnest  advocate  of  the  use  of  alcoholic  stimulants  in  medical 
practice,  but  will  tell  you  that  saloon  drinking,  this  social 
habit  of  taking  a  drink  at  all  hours  and  on  all  occasions,  saps 
vitality,  is  destructive  of  health,  undermines  the  constitution, 
leaves  the  system  subject  to  the  virulent  attacks  of  disease; 
and  that  when  attacked,  the  chances  for  recovery  are  dimin- 
ished a  thousandfold  by  the  fact  of  daily  dram  drinking. 
If  you  will  find  me  a  respectable  physician  who  recommends 
the  practice  of  saloon  drinking,  as  it  is  carried  on  and  prac- 


138  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

ticed  among  us,  as  a  life-giving  and  health-sustaining  institu- 
tion, I  will  send  him  to  the  insane  asylum,  and  that,  too, 
upon  the  certificate  of  any  ten  physicians  he  may  name  in 
the  State. 

And  now  I  want  to  know  if  the  State  is  not  justified  in 
saying,  "I,  the  State  of  California,  will  close  up  and  bar  out 
a  business  which  depletes  the  pockets  of  my  citizens  of  their 
cash,  and  their  bodies  of  vitality;  which  engenders  disease 
and  produces  death."  But  you  know  that  this  saloon  drink- 
ing engenders  dissolute,  idle,  and  spendthrift  habits ;  that  it 
begets  an  appetite  which  plays  the  imperious  tyrant  and  will 
not  be  controlled.  There  is  scarcely  a  household  that  has  not 
its  skeleton  in  some  branch  of  the  family,  near  or  remote. 
And  I  repeat  it  and  ask  you  to  think  of  it  when  this  eve- 
ning's assembly  has  dispersed.  Look  right  here  in  this  town 
among  your  acquaintances  of  ten  or  fifteen  years  ago  and  find 
how  many  men  and  women,  too,  there  were  who  took  the 
social  drinks;  then  remember  how  the  appetite  grew  on 
them.  And  where  are  they  now?  First,  there  is  a  long  line 
of  graves,  some  grass-grown  and  sodded,  and  some  on  whose 
fresh-turned  soil  no  summer  sun  ever  before  shone. 

Then  here  is  a  man  down  whose  throat  has  walked,  by 
way  of  the  saloon,  harvest  after  harvest,  and  finally  a  whole 
farm,  house,  barn,  and  fences,  besides  horses  and  farm  ma- 
chinery, and  he  now  in  his  old  age  earns  his  daily  bread  by 
his  daily  toil.  Another  a  merchant,  whose  balance-sheet 
shows  capital  stock  and  profits  on  one  side  and  a  retail 
whisky  account  on  the  other  to  balance.  Another  with  a 
deeply  mortgaged  farm,  and  his  daily  loads  of  gin  are  fore- 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  SALOON  139 

closing  any  right  of  redemption  that  may  still  remain  more 
swiftly  and  surely  than  any  court  of  equity  could  do. 

Do  you  know  them*?  I  can  give  you  names  and  dates — 
a  melancholy  row.  The  wrecks  of  manhood  and  woman- 
hood are  about  us,  upon  our  streets,  seen  so  commonly  that 
we  forget  the  mournful  drama  by  which  we  are  daily  sur- 
rounded, and  the  greenroom  of  whose  theatre  is  behind  the 
screens  of  the  saloon  doors  that  greet  you  many  times  on 
every  business  street.  I  remember  a  physician  in  this  county 
— a  man  of  culture  and  education,  a  college  graduate  and 
bearing  a  diploma  of  one  of  the  best  Eastern  medical 
schools,  a  man  by  nature  made  for  a  doctor,  enthusiastic  in 
his  profession  and  of  extensive  practice;  in  the  mines  he 
had  fallen  into  the  universal  custom  of  saloon  drinking, 
until  the  fate  of  many  others  became  his;  his  appetite  was 
his  master.  He  had  drunken  sprees  lasting  sometimes 
weeks,  sometimes  months,  followed  by  remorse  and  sobriety, 
until  the  omnipresent  saloon  awoke  again  his  slumbering 
appetite.  I  remember  him  as  a  medical  witness  in  a  murder 
case  in  the  District  Court  in  this  town.  He  came  upon  the 
heels  of  a  spree,  with  bloated  face,  bloodshot  eyes,  and  un- 
strung nerves  and  dared  not  trust  his  voice  or  memory  until 
he  had  swallowed  several  inordinate-sized  drinks.  I  remem- 
ber the  compliments  dropped  after  the  testimony  at  recess 
by  the  judge,  the  bar,  and  the  physicians  for  the  clearness 
of  his  evidence  and  the  accurate  professional  knowledge  of 
his  case.  And  yet  there  was  not  a  saloon  in  this  county 
where  he  could  not  obtain  whisky,  although  no  gift  of 
prophecy  was  needed  to  forecast  the  result.  He  died  at 
the  close  of  a  prolonged  carouse,  and  the  flowers  of  seven 


140  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

returning  springs  have  blossomed  over  his  grave  at  the  Mis- 
sion San  Jose.  Did  you  ever  know  of  such  an  example  in 
the  medical  profession?  I  have  known  many;  I  know  that 
you  have. 

And  now,  you  defenders  of  the  retail  liquor  trade,  sit 
down  and  count  out  about  how  much  money  made  in  that 
trade  will  compensate  the  world  for  a  life  like  that?  I 
knew  a  lawyer  in  this  county — a  man  of  culture  and  educa- 
tion, one  whose  opinion  had  weight  with  courts  and  whose 
eloquence  moved  juries.  Saloon  whisky  cooked  him,  and 
he  died  a  common  pauper  in  our  county  hospital.  Can 
you  find  no  parallel  among  the  lawyers  of  your  acquaint- 
ance? The  glazed  eye,  the  swaggering,  staggering  step,  the 
bloated  features,  and  the  perverted,  degraded  manhood  ob- 
trude themselves  before  you  daily.  And  so  it  is  in  every 
walk  and  avenue  of  life.  Will  you  hear  the  roll-call ?  No; 
the  grave  is  a  forgiving  mother.  I  know  that  they  were 
buried  tenderly  and  lovingly.  I  know  that  there  are  those 
within  the  sound  of  my  voice  whose  sable  robes  are  but 
lately  put  on,  whose  broken  hearts  are  buried  in  the  graves 
of  the  loved  and  lost,  unfortunate  victims  of  the  retail  liquor, 
trade.  I  have  no  need  of  story  books  and  works  of  fiction 
to  illustrate  the  tragedy  of  the  trade.  Fortunately,  human 
affection  clings  to  the  unfortunate,  and  I  would  not  tear 
open  the  half-healed  wounds  of  grief  by  the  recital  of  mis- 
fortunes which,  but  for  their  wholesome  lessons  of  experi- 
ence, the  grave  ought  to  bury  forever. 

You  remember  two  years  ago  in  the  heart  of  this  town 
we  pulled  from  the  glowing  embers  of  a  burnt  building  the 
charred  remains  of  two  men.  The  elements  of  that  tragedy 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  SALOON  141 

may  be  summed  up  in  a  few  words :  a  bar-room,  a  game  of 
cards,  a  drunk,  a  night  lamp,  a  fire,  two  men  and  two  build- 
ings destroyed,  one  widow  and  two  orphans  survived.  And 
now  I  want  to  know  if  the  State  is  not  justified  in  saying: 
"I,  the  State  of  California,  have  seen  not  only  that  this 
liquor  trade  robs  my  people  of  their  wealth,  depletes  them 
of  their  vitality,  engenders  disease;  not  only  this,  but  it 
burns  my  buildings,  it  multiplies  widows  and  orphans;  it 
fills  my  land  with  new-made  graves  and  my  homes  with 
mourning;  I  will  therefore  bar  and  close  up  a  business 
which  lives  only  to  destroy." 

And  what  are  the  relations  of  the  saloon  business  to 
the  criminal  records  of  the  country?  Senator  Pendegast, 
who,  as  I  said  before,  has  been  the  ablest  advocate  of  the 
Local  Option  Law,  both  in  the  Legislature  and  on  the 
stump,  says  that  of  eleven  hundred  convicts  in  the  Califor- 
nia state  prison,  nine  hundred  have  been  led  there  as  the 
result  of  the  retail  liquor  trade.  Oakland  has  the  reputation 
of  an  orderly  city,  not  having  more  than  its  share  of  drun- 
kenness; yet  the  police  authorities  inform  me  that  on  an 
average  seven-tenths  of  the  arrests  are  for  drunkenness  or 
crimes  committed  when  drunk.  From  the  monthly  report 
of  the  police  business  of  that  city  for  the  month  of  June  it 
appears  there  were  38  arrests  for  being  drunk  and  disorderly, 
and  29  for  all  other  crimes ;  and  how  many  of  that  29  were 
directly  or  indirectly  caused  by  whisky  I  do  not  know. 
Generally  the  farther  you  get  into  the  country  and  away 
from  cities,  the  less  the  drunkenness;  and  yet  were  you  to 
watch  the  records  of  your  justice's  court,  you  would  find 
that  nearly  as  large  a  percentage  of  criminal  litigation 
arose  from  the  same  causes. 


142  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

It  is  a  statement  often  made  in  temperance  papers  and 
in  the  halls  of  temperance  organizations  that  three-fourths 
of  all  the  crime  has  its  origin  in  the  retail  liquor  trade.  It 
sounds  like  a  wild  statement,  and  I  believe  it  is.  I  don't 
think  the  ratio  is  so  large.  And  yet,  you  may  take  any 
term  of  our  county  court  and  you  would  be  astonished,  as  I 
was,  to  find  how  large  a  proportion  of  criminal  cases 
arises  directly  and  unmistakably  from  the  saloons. 

Every  vote  you  cast  for  selling  whisky  is  a  vote  for 
the  increase  of  crime — a  vote  for  fresh  supplies  to  the  state's 
prison;  men  who  work  for  ten  to  thirty  cents  a  day  in  com- 
petition with  the  workmanship  of  your  hands.  How  does 
it  look  to  you — license  or  no  license?  And  I  ask  again  if 
the  State  is  not  justified  in  saying:  "I,  the  State  of  Cali- 
fornia, have  seen,  not  only  that  this  liquor  trade  robs  my 
people  of  their  wealth,  depletes  them  of  their  vitality,  en- 
genders disease,  not  only  burns  my  buildings,  multiplies 
widows  and  orphans,  fills  my  land  with  graves,  and  my 
homes  with  mourning,  but  it  robs  my  men  of  brains,  it 
educates  them  for  prison  walls,  it  fills  my  jails  and  dun- 
geons. I  will  therefore  let  fall  my  heavy  arm,  and  bar  out 
and  close  up  a  business  which  lives  only  to  degrade  and 
destroy." 

Without  fear,  without  favor,  with  charity  to  all,  with 
malice  towards  none,  in  the  interests  of  a  better  society,  in 
the  interests  of  a  community  of  peace,  sobriety,  and  wealth, 
in  the  interests  of  the  largest  liberty,  but  of  no  license,  let 
us  go  out  on  Saturday  next,  and  cast  the  vote  that 

"Falls  like  snowflakes  on  the  sod, 
But  executes  the  freeman's  will 
As  lightning  does  the  will  of  God." 


American  Common  School 

<&lven  at  tye  ^Dedication  of  a  "public  School 
lit  San  TCcattoro,  California,  ^uly  16,  IS92 

In  early  days  when  a  man  built  a  house,  his  friends 
and  neighbors  met  and  had  a  house-warming.  In  a  still 
earlier  time  before  the  ingress  of  cast-iron  stoves  in  the 
kitchen,  when  the  open  fireplace  gave  heat  for  family 
warmth  and  cooking  and  a  crane  swung  out  from  the  ample 
chimney-jaws  with  hooks  of  varied  length  on  which  to  hang 
the  kettles  and  the  pots,  when  the  newly  married  couple 
went  to  their  home  they  had  a  party,  and  a  sort  of  ceremony 
called  "the  hanging  of  the  crane."  It  was  a  custom,  the 
predecessor  of  the  house-warming,  and  one  of  the  sweetest 
and  tenderest  of  all  the  poems  written  by  that  sweetest 
singer  of  all  the  American  poets  is  based  on  that  early 
custom,  and  is  entitled,  "The  Hanging  of  the  Crane." 

Did  you  ever  read  it?  Whether  you  ever  did  or  not, 
get  Longfellow's  poems  and  read  it,  and  read  it  again.  In 
the  prelude  the  poet  says : 

"O  fortunate,  O  happy  day, 
When  a  new  household  finds  its  place 
Among  the  myriad  homes  of  earth 
Like  a  new  star  just  sprung  to  birth, 
And  rolled  on  its  harmonious  way 
Into  the  boundless  realms  of  space." 

Then  the  poet  relates  his  fancies ;  how  loving  and  how 
happy  are  the  newly  wedded  pair;  how  the  years  bring  a 


144  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

little  angel  to  their  home,  and  more  years  bring  another,  and 
then  another,  and  another;  how  they  grow  up  to  young 
manhood  and  young  womanhood  and  go  out  into  all 
quarters  of  the  earth  and  build  other  homes,  and  the  young 
pair,  now  grown  old,  are  left  desolate  and  alone.  And  then 
at  length,  fifty  years  away  from  "the  hanging  of  the  crane," 
comes  the  golden  wedding  day,  when  the  storms  of  grief  and 
clouds  of  care  all  have  passed  away,  and  children,  and 
grandchildren,  and  even  great-grandchildren,  have  come 
from  near  and  distant  lands  to  pronounce  a  glad  benediction 
upon  the  long  life  and  golden  fruitage  of  that  family  tree 
planted  so  many  years  ago. 

Girls  and  boys  of  the  San  Leandro  Public  School,  and 
you,  its  trustees  and  teachers,  and  you,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, its  patrons  and  friends,  as  we  meet  here  to  dedicate 
forever  this  beautiful  structure  to  the  uses  of  the  education 
of  the  young,  and  to  pledge  anew  our  fealty  to  the  American 
idea  that  the  State  owes  to  every  child  upon  her  soil, 
whether  rich  or  poor,  or  in  whatever  condition,  the  duty  of 
providing  without  money  and  without  price  the  means  of 
procuring  the  best  education  from  the  same  books  under  the 
guidance  of  the  same  teachers,  to  the  end  that  they  may  all 
have  an  even  start  in  life,  I  appeal  to  you  is  it  a  desecration 
of  the  beautiful  spirit  of  that  sweet  poem  if  we  apply  its 
sentiment  to  this  occasion? 

"O  fortunate,  O  happy  day, 
When  a  new  schoolhouse  finds  its  place 
Among  the  myriad  homes  of  earth 
Like  a  new  star  just  sprung  to  birth, 
And  rolled  on  its  harmonious  way 
Into  the  boundless  realms  of  space." 


THE  AMERICAN   COMMON   SCHOOL  145 

And  when  we  have  gone  from  these  walls  and  our 
greetings  are  over  and  we  have  scattered  to  our  homes  can 
not  we  continue  the  poet's  prophecy? 

"And  now  I  sit  and  muse  on  what  may  be, 
And  in  my  vision  see,  or  seem  to  see, 
Through  floating  vapors  interfused  with  light 
Shapes  indeterminate  that  gleam  and  fade 
As  shadows  passing  into  deeper  shade, 
Sink  and  elude  the  sight." 

May  we  not  imagine  that  from  these  walls  will  go  the 
boys  and  girls  who  shall  control,  and  own,  and  manage 
orchards  and  farms  and  factories;  who  shall  control  the 
marts  of  trade;  whose  white-winged  messengers  of  com- 
merce shall  ride  on  every  sea?  This  is  no  idle  fancy.  As 
great  things  have  already  been  done.  Seven  years  ago  I 
saw  at  the  World's  Fair  in  New  Orleans  an  electric  railway, 
perhaps  an  eighth  of  a  mile  long.  We  all  paid  a  nickel  and 
took  a  ride,  and  every  man  of  us  shook  his  head  and  said :  "A 
pretty  plaything,  but  it  isn't  practical."  Did  you  then 
dream  of  an  electric  railroad  at  your  front  gate?  Who 
was  it  whose  trained  muscle  and  level  head  and  executive 
ability  built  your  electric  road,  and  made  it  one  of  the  best 
constructed  plants  in  the  United  States?  Not  long  ago  he 
was  a  pupil  in  this  public  school.  We  older  people  had  no 
faith ;  we  shook  our  heads  and  kept  our  hands  in  our  pockets 
and  didn't  believe  it  would  pay.  He  and  his  kind  had 
faith;  but  faith  without  works  is  dead.  He  showed  his 
faith  by  his  works  and  set  us  all  a  good  Christian  example. 
And  he  is  but  one  of  a  host  that  are  worthy  of  mention. 


I46  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

The  schoolhouse  is  the  great  character  factory  of  the 
future;  and  the  teacher  is  the  master  mechanic.  Here  will 
be  cultivated  and  guided,  and,  in  thousands  of  cases,  will  be 
born  and  nourished,  the  ambitions  and  purposes  of  life. 
"What  shall  I  be*?"  Where  is  the  boy  or  girl  who  has  not 
asked  that  question  ?  Upon  you,  O  teacher,  hangs  the  issue 
of  that  momentous  question.  Sometimes,  yes,  many  times, 
the  answer  is  framed  from  home  and  its  surroundings. 
Sometimes,  yes,  and  how  many  times,  the  budding  energies 
of  the  child  are  checked  and  dwarfed  at  home.  His  ques- 
tions, "What  of  life?  What  shall  I  be?  What  shall  I 
do?"  and  the  embryo  dream  of  better  things  and  nobler 
possibilities  get  neither  aid  nor  sympathy  from  home  or  its 
surroundings.  Parents  frequently  have  not  the  ability  to 
advise,  and,  if  teachers  fail,  what  chance  is  there? 

On  such  an  occasion  as  this  it  seems  to  me  proper  that 
all  the  friends  of  the  schools  should  consult  to  the  end  of 
their  better  management,  that  they  may  yield  better  results. 
In  what  I  have  to  say  there  will  be  much  concerning  myself. 
God  knows  there  is  nothing  to  be  proud  of;  but  because 
personal  experience  is  convincing.  Did  you  ever  go  to 
camp-meeting?  You  have  heard  some  old  saint  get  up  and 
tell  in  his  simple  way  how  he  had  felt  the  Divine  hand 
leading  him  up  and  out  of  the  depths  of  sin,  until  at  length 
the  glory  of  the  Divine  life  had  permeated  all  his  being  and 
made  him  a  new  creature.  By  that  simple  recital  you  have 
seen  scores  of  men  and  women  come  out  and  proclaim  their 
own  sinfulness  and  pray  for  the  presence  in  them  of  that 
Spirit  which  shall  change  a  life  of  sin  into  a  life  of  purity 
and  light.  They  call  it  the  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 


THE  AMERICAN   COMMON   SCHOOL  147 

Well,  grant  it.  But  it  is  the  Holy  Spirit  made  powerful 
through  this  shining  example,  this  human  experience,  that 
convicts  and  converts. 

Now  let  me  refer  you  to  another  example  of  the  power 
of  personal  experience  on  the  minds  and  hearts  of  men. 
Did  you  ever  read  "The  Acts  of  the  Apostles'"?  Well,  of 
course  you  have,  many  times,  and  I  beg  pardon  for  the 
aspersion  upon  your  piety  and  intelligence  that  such  a  ques- 
tion would  seem  to  convey.  I  refer  particularly  to  Chapter 
21,  and  so  on  to  Chapter  28;  I  have  read  them  at  least  a 
hundred  times.  There  is  in  those  chapters  the  history  of  a 
great  man,  told  in  as  good  English  as  literature  affords,  and 
I  doubt  if  biography  can  produce  its  equal.  Some  time  after 
his  remarkable  conversion  on  the  road  to  Damascus,  Paul 
had  gone  to  the  temple  in  Jerusalem  for  the  ceremony  of 
purification.  It  took  seven  days.  Although  a  Christian, 
he  practiced  and  believed  in  the  Mosaic  ceremonies.  Before 
the  seven  days  were  passed  a  lot  of  Asiatic  Jews  discovered 
him  and  they  at  once  got  up  a  mob,  ran  him  out  of  the  tem- 
ple and  were  about  to  lynch  him,  when  the  chief  of  police 
with  a  squad  dispersed  the  rioters  and  put  Paul  in  jail  for 
protection.  In  a  few  days  they  had  him  up  for  trial  before 
the  Council.  Paul  began  his  address:  "Men  and 
brethren,"  said  he,  "I  have  lived  in  all  good  conscience 
before  God  until  this  day."  Just  then  Ananias,  one  of  the 
Council  sitting  in  judgment  on  him,  full  of  venom  and  hate 
and  prejudice,  cried  out:  "Smite  him  on  the  mouth! 
Smite  him  on  the  mouth!"  What  majesty  was  in  Paul's 
reply:  "God  shall  smite  thee,  thou  whited  wall;  for  sittest 


148  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

thou  to  judge  me  after  the  law,  and  commandest  thou  me 
to  be  smitten  contrary  to  law*?" 

And  then  there  was  another  riot  and  they  got  up  a 
conspiracy  to  assassinate  him.  The  police  discovered  it, 
and  by  night  they  with  a  force  of  two  hundred  soldiers  and 
seventy  cavalrymen  and  two  hundred  spearsmen  (they 
didn't  have  muskets  and  bayonets  at  that  early  day)  rushed 
Paul  off  down  into  Csesarea,  where  Felix  was  governor. 
Felix  was  a  Roman  and  a  politician  and  an  office-holder. 
He  couldn't  run  for  Congress;  he  was  appointed  governor  of 
a  province.  He  had  about  as  much  religion  as  a  snake. 
But  his  wife  was  a  Jewess;  her  name  was  Drusilla,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  she  tried  no  end  of  means  to  lead  him  to  her 
faith.  She  had  heard  Paul  and  was  moved  by  his  preach- 
ing. What  won't  a  loving  woman  do  for  the  eternal 
salvation  of  those  she  loves ! 

One  day  Felix  and  his  wife  called  Paul  in  to  inquire 
about  his  faith  in  Christ.  What  does  the  record  say?  "And 
as  he  reasoned  of  righteousness,  temperance,  and  judgment 
to  come,  Felix  trembled."  Why?  He  had  heard  of  these 
things  before.  Drusilla  had  been  drumming  them  into  him 
ever  since  they  were  married.  The  personal  experience  of 
this  great  man  Paul — that  was  what  broke  through  the 
tough  crust  that  covered  up  his  dwarfed  and  crippled  re- 
ligious nature  and  touched  it  with  the  living  coals  of  truth 
from  the  Divine  altar.  "Felix  trembled."  What  did  he  say4? 
Read  the  record :  "Felix  trembled  and  answered :  Go  thy 
way  for  this  time;  when  I  have  a  convenient  season  I  will 
call  for  thee."  Paul's  personal  experience — that  was  what 
made  Felix  tremble.  Felix  would  have  made  a  good  aver- 


THE  AMERICAN   COMMON   SCHOOL  149 

age  member  of  a  California  Boodle  Legislature,  for  the 
record  adds:  "He  hoped  also  that  money  should  have 
been  given  him  of  Paul  that  he  might  loose  him." 

Things  moved  along  in  Paul's  lawsuit  very  slowly — 
almost  as  slowly  as  a  case  in  the  Supreme  Court  of  Cali- 
fornia. Paul  was  not  in  close  confinement;  he  had  the 
liberty  of  the  town;  he  was  a  kind  of  Salvation  Army  man. 
If  he  had  been  in  Oakland  the  police  would  have  run  him  in 
for  obstructing  the  streets ;  and  if  they  did  he  wouldn't  have 
needed  a  lawyer  to  defend  him;  he  could  defend  himself. 
Two  years  ran  along  and  still  he  did  not  get  his  trial. 
Felix's  term  of  office  expired,  and  Festus  succeeded  him. 
Festus  found  Paul  a  strong  man.  One  day  King  Agrippa 
called  on  Festus.  They  talked  Paul's  case  over.  Agrippa 
was  a  Jew,  but  he  was  educated  in  Rome  and  was  a  good 
deal  of  a  Roman.  "Let  us  see  this  Paul,"  said  Agrippa, 
and  Paul  was  sent  for  and  came.  The  twenty-sixth  chapter 
of  Acts  tells  the  story  of  that  meeting.  Agrippa  was  born 
a  king,  had  been  educated  in  Rome,  had  all  the  haughty 
bearing  and  manner  of  a  Roman  patrician  added  to  that  of 
the  tetrarch  of  Judea.  Paul  was  well  born  and  well 
educated.  The  record  says:  "Then  Paul  stretched  forth 
the  hand  and  answered  for  himself."  Then  followed  a 
scene  which  for  strength  of  character,  for  sublime  purpose, 
for  a  faith  that  knows  no  doubt,  for  the  convincing  power 
of  personal  experience,  if  literature,  sacred  or  profane,  has 
its  parallel,  I  don't  know  it. 

What  was  the  effect?  "Then  Agrippa  said  unto  Paul, 
'Almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian.'  "  What  I 
want  to  impress  is  this:  the  masterful  power  of  personal 


150  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

experience.  Wendell  Phillips  once  said :  "No  reform,  moral 
or  intellectual,  ever  came  down  from  the  upper  classes  of 
society.  Each  and  all  came  up  from  the  protest  of  martyr 
and  victim."  How  true  that  is !  Why4?  The  upper  classes 
never  have  felt  the  wrongs  they  try  to  reform.  He  whose 
soul  has  been  pierced  by  the  iron  wrong,  he  it  is  whose  voice 
of  agony  can  be  understood  by  others  suffering  like  him. 

Now  I  come  to  the  point.  I  want  to  speak  of  what 
may  be  called  educational  manslaughter  and  educational 
mayhem,  that  is,  the  killing  of  mental  faculties,  or  the 
wounding  or  disabling  through  educational  blundering. 
Am  I  enabled  by  personal  experience  to  speak?  I  tell  you 
I  am  myself  an  example  of  the  effects  of  the  mistakes  and 
experiments  of  education.  Where  are  the  forty  teachers 
that  had  me  in  their  charge  during  the  sixteen  years  or  more 
of  my  educational  career?  Three  of  them  stand  out  bright 
and  clear  like  electric  masts  on  the  shore  of  a  wintry  mid- 
night sea;  the  rest  are  forgotten.  They  flit  like  phantoms 
in  the  others'  light  and  fade  away.  They  three  were  great 
teachers. 

But  during  a  period  of  twelve  years  I  was  a  teacher. 
Are  there  any  educational  graves  along  my  pathway?  I 
don't  know.  I  wish  I  did.  Sometimes  that  fear  haunts  me 
as  the  fancied  shadow  of  the  victim  follows  and  startles  the 
murderer.  God  knows  I  didn't  mean  any  educational  mis- 
takes. But  the  ignorance  of  teachers,  their  failure  to  wake 
up  dormant  faculties — how  many  graves  are  filled  because 
of  the  crimes  of  ignorance!  I  remember  one,  a  girl,  the 
child  of  penury,  ignorant,  stolid,  no  spark  of  mental  or 
moral  life  apparent.  I  could  wake  into  life  no  noble  senti- 


THE  AMERICAN   COMMON   SCHOOL  151 

ments,  no  aspirations  for  better  things.  The  grave  covered 
the  end  of  her  shameful  and  sinful  life  more  than  twenty 
years  ago.  It  has  always  been  a  favorite  belief  with  me 
that  there  is  no  child  so  dark  but  somewhere  there  is  a 
teacher  who  can  unlock  the  windows  and  let  in  the  light. 
That  poor  girl  never  found  such  a  teacher;  she  groped  in 
darkness  to  her  death.  Did  my  stupidity  contribute  to  the 
tragedy?  I  don't  know.  Great  God!  If  I  were  only  sure 
and  could  say  no ! 

I  remember  another  pupil  of  mine,  a  boy,  here  in  Cali- 
fornia, so  listless,  slothful,  and  lazy,  apparently  without 
capacity.  And  yet  there  were  occasional  exhibitions  of 
ornamental  and  decorative  deviltry  that  would  have  been 
amusing  were  they  not  alarming.  I  have  known  him  to 
place  a  bent  pin  on  a  seat  and  watch  it  for  hours;  and  when 
the  supreme  moment  came  of  the  sudden  resurrection  of  him 
who  sat  on  it,  I  have  seen  an  exhibition  of  energetic  and 
spasmodic  joy  in  that  boy  which,  if  it  had  gone  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  spelling-book  and  the  arithmetic,  would  have  made 
him  the  foremost  scholar  of  the  age.  But  I  could  never  pierce 
the  crust  of  stupidity  that  enveloped  the  boy's  intellectual 
nature. 

I  left  the  school ;  that  was  twenty-nine  years  ago.  My 
successor  was  a  lady;  she  was  that  boy's  savior.  Under  her 
tuition  he  became  a  new  creature,  studious,  and  attentive, 
not  a  bright  scholar  like  his  sisters,  but  he  made  up  in 
tenacity  any  lack  of  quickness  of  perception.  He  finished  a 
grammar-school  course,  was  afterwards  graduated  at  a  com- 
mercial college  and  today  is  a  respected  and  respectable 
citizen  of  Alameda  county.  Who  was  she?  Miss  Rapelje, 


152  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

a  noble  teacher.  She  went  to  Persia  as  a  missionary  and 
died  there.  I  warrant  that  she  was  a  great  power  among 
the  heathen.  She  converted  one  before  she  left  California. 

I  have  failed  as  a  teacher  where  others  conquered,  and 
I  know  I  have  many  times  succeeded  where  others  failed, 
and  I  believe  mine  to  be  the  experience  of  every  member  of 
the  profession. 

But  do  you  trustees  think  you  have  a  thankless  task^ 
If  there  is  anything  in  the  warm,  close  grasp  of  the  hand  of 
sympathy  that  will  lift  you  up  and  speed  you  on  the  path  of 
irksome  duty,  surely  I  can  help  you,  for  I  have  been  a  school 
trustee;  let's  shake.  And  my  experience  was  so  instructive, 
and  so  funny,  and  so  brief,  that  I  think  it  worth  relating.  In 
1866,  I  think  it  was,  I  was  appointed  trustee  of  this  Union 
District  to  fill  a  vacancy.  The  board  were,  Charles  H.  Cush- 
ing,  president;  Jacob  W.  Harlan,  and  myself,  secretary.  We 
held  meetings  sometimes  on  a  street  corner,  sometimes  in  a 
buggy,  and  if  the  frozen  truth  must  be  told,  sometimes  in  a 
saloon,  and  taken  altogether,  we  were  a  high  old  dignified 
board.  One  of  the  lady  teachers  got  married  not  long  be- 
fore, then  she  got  sick  soon  after  I  came  into  power,  and 
one  morning  sent  in  her  resignation  to  take  effect  at  once.  I 
looked  after  my  fellow  trustees;  they  were  both  gone  for  a 
couple  of  weeks,  one  to  Santa  Barbara  and  one  to  Napa,  as 
I  remember  it.  I  assumed  despotic  power  and  put  a  young 
lady  in  the  vacant  place.  I  believe  she  is  here  today.  Next 
day  the  principal  informed  me  they  were  in  need  of  a  clock 
and  some  crayons.  I  again  assumed  the  powers  of  a  despot 
and  went  to  the  city,  got  the  goods  and  paid  for  them. 


THE  AMERICAN   COMMON   SCHOOL  153 

Finally  the  trustees  returned  and  we  had  a  full  board 
and  a  meeting.  I  stated  with  some  pride  how  I  had  kept 
the  department  running  in  their  absence.  Then  I  found 
that,  like  the  Oakland  Board  of  Education,  they  had  a  pre- 
liminary private  meeting  before  the  public  one,  and  I  was 
"not  in  it."  The  result  was  my  action  was  disapproved; 
they  elected  a  new  teacher  in  place  of  mine — put  her  out 
without  notice  or  warning.  I  paid  the  wages  of  my  teacher, 
got  roundly  abused  by  her  brother  for  not  standing  by  my 
friends,  and  paid  for  the  clock  and  crayons.  I  counted  it 
up.  I  had  been  a  trustee  twenty-three  days;  it  cost  me 
$28.35.  I  nad  a  young  and  growing  family  and  a  young 
law  practice;  I  don't  think  it  was  very  growing,  and  I  felt 
constrained  to  resign. 

About  ten  years  later  I  was  financially  better  fixed,  and 
I  offered  my  services  to  my  country  as  school  trustee  of  this 
same  district.  ("Offered  my  services  to  my  country,"  that's 
the  correct  expression,  isn't  it*?)  The  election  came  off  in 
due  time.  A  gentleman  from  Fayal  was  the  successful 
candidate  by  a  majority  of  about  four  to  one,  and  I  never 
doubted  the  wisdom  of  the  choice.  The  voice  of  the  people 
is  the  voice  of  God.  When  you  know  the  people  well  you 
can  form  some  approximate  opinion  of  the  character  of  their 
God. 

Later  on,  I  moved  to  Tulare  County,  and  there  I  was 
appointed  a  trustee  of  the  new  Jefferson  District.  The 
people  were  poor.  Rough  boards,  and,  in  luxurious  abodes, 
cloth  and  paper  walls  prevailed  in  the  homes  of  the  people. 
I  owned  the  only  painted  house  in  the  district  and  that  was 
painted  only  on  one  side — the  rest  were  whitewashed. 


154  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

Houses  were  scattered;  my  nearest  neighbor  was  two  miles 
away.  But  when  you  found  a  nest  it  swarmed  with 
children.  I  called  on  my  nearest  neighbor  one  morning.  It 

looked  populous  around  there.     Said  I:     "Mrs. ,  how 

many  children  have  you"?"  Said  she,  modestly:  "Ten,  I 
am  ashamed  to  say."  What  in  the  world  there  was  to  be 
ashamed  of  I  couldn't  see.  It  seemed  to  me  she  had  broken 
the  record;  but  she  has  another  now. 

In  such  a  fertile  country,  schoolhouses  are  necessities. 
Ours  had  been  built  by  contribution.  No  elaborate  ground 
plans,  or  front  elevations,  or  Doric  columns,  frieze,  or 
cornice,  or  lengthy  specifications — none  of  these.  One  man 
offered  for  his  share  to  furnish  a  six-horse  team;  another, 
their  feed;  another,  a  big  mountain  wagon  and  a  trailer;  the 
others  chipped  in  enough  to  buy  the  lumber  at  ten  or  twelve 
dollars  a  thousand  at  the  mountain  mills  forty  miles  away. 
One  bright  October  morning  the  outfit  started,  and  five  days 
after,  just  at  sundown,  a  weary,  tugging,  travel-stained, 
dust-begrimed  team  with  the  tinkling  mountain  bells  an- 
nounced the  arrival  of  the  schoolhouse,  the  whole  of  it. 
Two  days7  work  of  the  roughest  carpentry  you  ever  saw, 
with  two  men,  and  that  temple  of  education  was  complete. 
Green  lumber  was  put  up  rough,  unpainted  and  unmatched. 
Three  weeks  of  hot  Tulare  sun  opened  yawning  cracks  in  the 
sides  through  which  you  could  almost  throw  your  hat,  and 
through  which  you  could  take  solar  observations  by  day  and 
stellar  observations  by  night.  Then  we  wanted  seats;  we 
arranged  to  borrow  them  from  a  Stockton  house,  with  the 
understanding  that  we  would  levy  a  tax  and  buy  them. 
We  wanted  $106.  I  carried  through  all  the  proceedings  of 


THE  AMERICAN   COMMON   SCHOOL  155 

an  election,  and  we  got  eight  votes  for  a  tax  and  none 
against.  The  board  of  supervisors  levied  the  tax  and  it  was 
collected,  and  that  was  where  my  part  of  the  fun  came  in. 
Almost  all  the  people  were  settlers  on  public  lands,  either  as 
preemptors  or  homesteaders,  who  had  not  yet  got  title  to 
their  lands,  and  were  therefore  not  taxable.  My  land  was 
patented  and  therefore  taxable.  Of  the  $106  of  tax,  my 
share  was  $49.36. 

Hence  I  can  speak  feelingly  on  the  trials  and  triumphs 
of  the  school  trustee.  That  kind  of  a  schoolhouse  is  not  to 
be  laughed  at.  Whenever  I  approach  a  little  schoolhouse  of 
that  kind  I  feel  as  if  treading  on  holy  ground.  It  was  in  such 
a  building  as  that,  with  a  ceiling  so  low  that  an  athletic 
youth  could  kick  it;  with  earth  banked  upon  the  outside 
right  to  the  window-sill  to  keep  out  the  cold — that  was  the 
American  college  where  my  education  began,  and  there  was 
where  I  met  the  first  teacher  who  could  make  the  pages  of  a 
school  book  glow  with  warmth  and  interest.  I  tell  you,  my 
friends,  if  the  history  of  the  little  brown  schoolhouse,  its 
trials  and  triumphs,  both  of  teachers  and  pupils,  could  be 
told  in  plain,  unvarnished  truth,  the  dreams  of  the  wildest 
imagination  couldn't  match  it. 

Let  me  tell  you  a  case:  On  the  Tulare  plains,  four 
miles  from  Visalia,  lived  a  boy  in  a  plain,  brown,  board 
house,  almost  a  shanty;  one  of  a  large  family.  Overgrown, 
awkward,  bashful,  long-limbed,  he  was  the  particular  target 
for  giggling  girls.  But  he  was  a  lover  of  books.  That  was 
Pete  Murray.  His  father  said  of  him :  "Pete  is  the  beatinest 
boy  for  books  I  ever  seen,  but  he  ain't  wuth  shucks  to  work. 
I  haint  no  use  for  him."  Even  his  mother  was  provoked  that 


156  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

he  preferred  arithmetic  to  eating.  He  had  only  six  months' 
school  a  year  in  the  little  brown  schoolhouse.  C.  H.  Murphy 
was  then  principal  of  the  Visalia  public  school.  He  and  Pete 
met — it  was  love  at  first  sight.  Pete  made  the  daily  journey 
to  school,  four  miles,  sometimes  on  horseback,  sometimes  on 
foot,  to  be  one  of  Murphy's  pupils.  And  it  wasn't  long  till 
the  "Country  Jake,"  as  the  girls  called  him,  distanced 
them  all. 

Murphy  was  elected  County  Superintendent  of  Schools 
of  Tulare  County.  He  made  a  place  for  Pete  in  his  office. 
Then  there  came  an  advertisement  that  in  that  Congressional 
District  there  was  a  cadetship  for  the  West  Point  United 
States  Military  Academy  to  be  filled  by  competitive  examin- 
ations at  Los  Angeles.  "Pete,"  said  Murphy,  "now  is  your 
chance."  Pete  doubted.  West  Point  and  the  thorough 
scholarship  of  that  great  military  school  looked  a  long  way 
off.  He  feared  the  sneers  that  might  follow  failure.  One 
morning  he  told  his  mother  he  wouldn't  be  home  for  three 
days,  but  he  would  not  tell  where  he  was  going.  He  went 
to  Los  Angeles,  to  the  examination.  Murphy  paid  his  way. 
Three  days  passed;  he  didn't  come  home — four  and  five 
days;  still  he  didn't  come.  His  mother  was  nearly  wild. 
She  sat  in  Murphy's  office  and  cried  about  it.  That  night 
just  at  dusk  the  evening  train  brought  the  "Chronicle,"  and 
the  people  of  Visalia  saw  the  large  headlines : 

WEST  POINT  CADETSHIP. 

COMPETITIVE   EXAMINATIONS  AT  LOS  ANGELES. 
PETER  MURRAY,  OF  VISALIA,  THE  SUCCESSFUL   CONTESTANT 

What  about  Murphy  *?  He  picked  up  the  "Chronicle" 
in  the  reading-room  of  the  Palace  Hotel  in  Visalia,  and  when 


THE  AMERICAN   COMMON   SCHOOL  157 

he  saw  the  staring  headlines  he  looked  sort  of  dazed,  then 
tears  ran  down  his  face.  Dick  Chatten,  a  wealthy  citizen  of 
that  town,  saw  him ;  he  thought  Murphy  had  lost  a  friend — 
a  mother-in-law,  perhaps.  "Why,  Murphy,"  said  he, 
"what's  the  matter1?" 

"Look  at  that,"  said  Murphy,  pointing  to  the  paper. 
"God  bless  the  boy.  I  knew  he'd  get  it."  And  then  he 
skipped  around  the  hotel  like  a  wild  Comanche  at  a  green 
corn  dance. 

Pete  realized  what  good  fortune  had  come  to  him — a 
chance  to  obtain  the  best  education,  and  board,  and  clothing, 
and  traveling  expenses  all  paid,  and  he  improved  the  oppor- 
tunity. He  was  graduated  in  the  class  of  '90.  When  he 
got  home  to  the  little  brown  cottage  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
making  his  acquaintance.  Six  feet  in  his  boots,  straight  as 
an  arrow,  modest,  courteous,  his  physical  and  mental  powers 
trained,  an  athlete  mental  and  physical,  conscious  of  his 
strength,  he  was  a  specimen  of  magnificent  manhood.  Did 
the  girls  call  him  a  "Country  Jake"  now?  Oh,  no! 

It  is  a  warm  climate  down  there;  the  girls  dress  in 
white,  and  the  Visalia  summer  girl  looks  very  dainty  and 
sweet.  It  would  make  a  young  man  sneeze  to  look  at  her. 
The  girls  met  at  the  postoffice.  This  sort  of  conversation 
went  on:  "Oh,  Susie,  have  you  met  Lieutenant  Murray 
yet"?  "  "No,  have  you?  "  "Yais,  and  he's  just  as  sweet, 
and  nice,  and  polite  as  he  can  be;  and  he's  just  splendid 
and  so  handsome.  And  don't  you  know  what  fun  we  used 
to  make  of  him  when  he  went  to  school  here  and  wore  over- 
alls, and  I  called  him  a  'Country  Jake'  and  said  he  smelt 
cowey,  and  he  heard  me?  I  reckon  he's  forgotten  it,  or 


158  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

else  he's  too  polite  to  show  it;  but  he's  awful  nice.  I  can't 
help  thinking  about  him."  And  then  the  girl  looks  with 
pensive  sadness  away  over  the  distant  crest  of  Saw  Tooth 
Mountain  as  if  a  lost  opportunity  had  escaped  and  lodged 
beyond  recall.  Don't  fool  yourself,  dear,  the  sting  and 
rankle  of  unkind  words,  and  jeers,  and  sneers,  never  fade. 

In  a  teacher's  life  there  is  a  tendency  to  degeneration. 
He  is  always  dealing  with  an  intellectual  life  below  his  own ; 
and  there  is  a  tendency  to  slip  back  to  the  level  of  the  life 
he  deals  with.  When  a  young  teacher  begins,  there  are 
motives  which  help  to  overcome  this  tendency.  He  is  am- 
bitious of  promotion.  He  is  full  of  enthusiasm  that  comes 
of  recent  contact  with  superior  minds  and  with  his  books. 
But  when  promotion  has  been  gained  or  he  has  reached  a 
spot  where  he  is  content  or  can  not  reasonably  expect  fur- 
ther promotion,  I  tell  you  the  teacher,  whether  man  or 
woman,  who  can  brace  up  and  overcome  the  tendency  to 
degeneration  and  inertness  and  laziness,  is  made  of  sterner 
stuff  than  is  commonly  found  in  human  form.  Dr.  Nott, 
for  fifty  years  president  of  Union  College,  and  Professor 
Kenyon,  the  founder  and  for  over  thirty  years  the  leading 
spirit  of  Alfred  Academy  in  New  York,  were  notable 
exceptions. 

The  Arabs  have  a  saying  that  the  greatest  enemies  of 
a  horse  are  fat  and  rest.  It  is  much  the  same  with  a  teacher. 
Give  him  a  fat  salary  and  an  easy  position,  and  ten  chances 
to  one  that  retrogression  will  begin.  The  good  teacher's 
life  is  one  of  constant  tension  and  work.  He  must  cudgel 
himself  to  prevent  falling  into  inertness  and  inanity,  and  he 


THE  AMERICAN   COMMON   SCHOOL  159 

must  exercise  his  ingenuity  all  the  time  in  the  interest  of 
his  pupils. 

What  was  it  our  Savior  said  in  that  great  sermon 
delivered  in  the  temple  after  he  came  down  from  the  Mount 
of  Olives'?  "I  am  the  good  Shepherd;  the  good  Shepherd 
giveth  His  life  for  His  sheep."  How  true  this  is  of  a  teacher. 
He  giveth  his  life.  Have  you  known  any  such?  I  know 
you  have.  I  don't  need  to  be  a  prophet  to  know  that  we  all 
have  now  in  mind  one,  aye,  more,  who  have  lately  gone  from 
this  school  to  answer  the  roll-call  from  the  other  shore. 

One  virtue  must  exist  in  a  school  or  no  progress  can  be 
expected  in  any  direction;  that  is  truthfulness.  It  is  the 
basis  of  all  the  virtues,  and  in  schools  lying  is  the  common- 
est vice.  Did  you  ever  undertake  to  teach  in  a  school  where 
it  seemed  as  if  the  devil  possessed  every  child  to  warp  and 
twist  the  truth  and  tell  a  lie  where  the  truth  would  serve  the 
purpose  better?  I  have;  it  was  in  a  community  of  good 
morals  in  the  homes — a  religious  community.  Yet,  there 
were  plenty  of  boys  and  girls  that  would  tell  the  truth  at 
home;  tell  the  truth  on  the  street;  but  would  come  to  the 
schoolroom,  look  the  teacher  straight  in  the  eye,  crucify  the 
truth  and  never  blush.  That  comes  from  faulty  and  incom- 
petent teachers.  A  carping,  fault-finding,  snarling,  suspi- 
cious, and  accusing  teacher,  ready  to  believe  all  things  evil 
and  nothing  good,  will  beget  a  race  of  liars  as  sure  as  a 
stagnant  pool  begets  tadpoles  and  mosquitoes;  and  when 
that  sort  of  teachers  have  succeeded  one  another  for  genera- 
tions, it  crystallizes  the  habit  of  lying  so  that  it  is  hard  to 
eradicate. 


160  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

I  remember  one  of  my  earliest  teachers — a  lady,  who 
opened  school  with  Bible  reading  and  prayer  and  then 
watched  and  suspected  and  accused  us  all  of  all  evil  things. 
How  we  hated  that  teacher!  She  has  been  dead  thirty 
years.  I  hate  her  yet.  I  remember  nothing  of  her  teaching. 
But  the  nagging  suspicions  that  beget  liars  and  breed  con- 
tempt, that  I  remember;  that  is  all.  In  my  school  in  six 
weeks  I  beat  the  lying  once  and  forever.  I  believed  in  them, 
and  they  believed  in  me.  I  can't  stop  to  tell  how.  But  one 
of  my  strongest  aids  was  teaching  mathematics.  I  tell  you, 
morals  and  mathematics  go  together.  You  never  saw  a  good 
mathematician  who  was  a  big  liar.  It  is  impossible  in  the 
nature  of  things.  Truth  is  the  foundation  of  morals;  and 
mathematics  are  simply  the  expressions  of  eternal  truth. 
Twice  four  are  eight.  Is  that  right?  Now  let's  see  you  or 
anybody  else  lie  out  of  it.  So  in  every  step  in  mathematics, 
you  are  learning  the  truth,  and  it  is  a  truth  you  can't  get 
around.  You  can't  lie  out  of  it.  You  take  a  boy  who  has 
learned  the  first  half  of  the  multiplication  table  and  try  to 
convince  him  that  twice  four  are  ten.  He  will  have  a  just 
contempt  for  you  ever  after. 

George  Washington  couldn't  tell  a  lie.  Why"?  He 
was  a  natural  born  mathematician,  and  the  record  shows 
it.  Born  in  the  Virginia  woods,  in  a  new,  poor  and  sparsely 
settled  country,  he  had  no  chance  for  the  education  of  the 
schools,  for  there  were  none.  He  had  such  education  as  he 
could  pick  up.  He  could  not  spell  well.  I  have  seen  a  letter 
in  his  own  handwriting;  there  were  several  mistakes;  a 
boy  in  your  grammar  school  could  beat  him.  But  at 
eighteen,  so  great  were  his  acquirements  in  mathematics,  he 


THE  AMERICAN  COMMON   SCHOOL  161 

was  an  expert  surveyor.  Such  a  boy  couldn't  lie.  So  if  you 
have  a  primary  class  of  liars,  put  in  a  square  teacher  and  the 
mental  arithmetic,  and  if  your  teacher  is  good  for  anything, 
lying  will  fade  away  like  frost  in  a  summer  sun.  And  when 
you  get  further  along  put  in  the  square  teacher  and  the 
written  arithmetic  and  teach  them  to  demonstrate  every 
step,  not  only  demonstrate  it  yourself  to  them,  but  teach 
them  to  do  it,  over  and  over  again,  until  they  are  themselves 
competent  to  teach.  They  not  only  cease  to  be  liars,  but 
they  become  orators. 

What  is  the  secret  of  an  orator's  success?  Is  it  not 
to  convince  his  hearers  of  the  truth  of  what  he  says?  Now 
tell  me,  what  conviction  is  more  complete  than  that  which 
comes  from  mathematical  demonstration?  And  you  get  a 
class  up  along  into  geometry,  and  they  have  learned  to  dem- 
onstrate the  proposition  commonly  called  pans  asinorum, 
that  the  square  erected  on  the  hypothenuse  of  a  right-angled 
triangle  is  equal  to  the  sum  of  the  squares  erected  on  the 
other  two  sides.  Then  let  them  try  to  lie  out  of  it.  It  can't 
be  done.  Mathematics  and  morals  go  hand  in  hand. 

It  is  a  saying  of  the  Rev.  Sam  Jones  that  red  liquor  and 
religion  don't  occupy  the  same  skin.  I  say  that  mathematics 
and  a  liar  can't  sleep  between  the  same  sheets.  Now  I  say 
this  in  all  earnestness.  I  ask  you  to  watch  and  see  if  it  be 
not  true.  I  know  how  it  will  be.  Some  of  you  will  think 
about  it;  most  of  you  will  say,  "Oh,  he's  a  crank;  there's 
nothing  in  it,  and  a  mathematical  crank  is  the  worst  of  'em 
all."  My  friends,  go  home  and  watch  your  windmill. 
What  makes  it  pump?  A  crank  away  at  the  top.  And  your 
grindstone,  what  turns  it?  A  crank.  And  the  locomotive? 


162  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

A  crank.  Go  down  into  the  hold  of  a  great  steamship,  the 
empress  of  the  seas;  what  sends  her  plowing  through  the 
brine  day  and  night,  never  ceasing,  never  tiring*?  It  is  a 
mighty  crank.  And  is  it  not  the  same  in  the  great  field  of 
thought  and  discovery  and  of  business^  There  were  Chris- 
topher Columbus,  and  Luther,  and  Melancthon,  and  Galileo, 
and  Dr.  Harvey,  and  Morse,  and  Wm.  Lloyd  Garrison — 
cranks  every  one ;  I  disclaim  the  title.  I  am  not  worthy. 

Many  things  I  wanted  to  say  I  shall  leave  unsaid.  I 
wanted  to  suggest  whether  the  school  system  of  California 
does  not  spread  over  too  much  surface  at  the  expense  of 
thoroughness.  I  confess  to  you  that  my  suspicions  are  very 
strongly  aroused  in  that  direction.  I  further  confess  that  I 
am  not  at  present  sufficiently  informed  to  give  a  candid 
judgment. 

Now  just  one  word  of  benediction  to  these  public  school 
pupils.  I  believe  in  you,  the  men  and  women  of  the  future. 
Our  time  is  short.  When  the  world  is  submitted  to  your 
guidance,  I  believe  it  will  blossom  and  bear  the  fruits  of  a 
nobler  civilization.  If  not,  then  these  schoolhouses  are  in 
vain. 

"Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee; 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears; 
Our  faith,  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 
Are  all  with  thee — are  all  with  thee." 


In  ISS5  3u6se  3t?e  Vlsiteo  3fis  O16  3fome  in  tttew  ^ork,  an& 

l£pon  tl)e  Occurrence  of  32temorial  IDa?  3fe  Was 

3nvite6  to  deliver  an  ^\6&ress  at 

Volusia,  near  Westfielo 

Today  we  meet  to  strew  fresh  garlands  on  the 
graves  of  our  honored  dead.  Reveille  no  more  wakes 
them  from  their  "iron  sleep."  Time  has  dried  the  tears; 
sunshine  gleams  through  rifts  in  the  clouds;  and  now  in 
this  sweet  springtime,  when  the  green  glories  of  the  growing 
grass  and  budding  leaves  and  bursting  flowers  have  clad  the 
earth  in  a  garniture  of  beauty,  we  can  look  into  each  other's 
eyes  with  even  pulse  and  speak  of  the  noble  cause  in  which 
our  heroes  fell,  the  now  happy  country  which  they  died  to 
save,  and  their  manly  virtues  bequeathed  to  us  as  priceless 
legacies. 

Almost  to  a  man,  these  dead  heroes  of  ours  who  enlisted 
in  their  country's  cause  from  these  beech-clad  hills  had  been 
my  pupils;  and  you  whose  blessed  privilege  it  has  been  to 
have  been  a  teacher  of  youth  know  that,  after  the  diviner 
bonds  of  the  family,  no  stronger  ties  twine  around  human 
fellowship  than  those  that  bind  together  the  teacher  and  his 
pupils. 

I  had  seen  the  bud  and  the  bloom  of  the  boyish  mind; 
I  had  watched  the  broadening  grasp  of  the  growing  intellect 
as  it  grappled  and  mastered  scientific  truth;  I  had  seen  how 
the  heroes  of  history  had  imbued  their  minds  with  heroic 


164  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

ardor;  I  had  admired  the  flashing  eye  and  heaving  breast, 
as  in  their  boyish  declamations  of  the  great  thoughts  of 
great  men  they  applauded  the  right  and  denounced  the 
wrong;  I  had  seen  them  grow  into  the  fruition  of  a  manhood 
worthy  the  promise  of  such  a  boyhood.  Although  in  the 
fitness  of  things  it  seems  to  me  that  this  annual  address 
should  be  pronounced  by  some  one  of  the  noble  living,  a 
comrade  of  the  noble  dead,  yet,  above  all  human  dignities, 
I  prize  this  privilege  that,  after  an  absence  of  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  the  mantle  of  honor  falls  on  me,  in  my  poor  way,  to 
say  the  fitting  word  on  this  memorial  occasion. 

No  soldiery  ever  stood  in  battle  equal  to  the  rank  and 
file  of  the  republic  in  the  great  conflict.  Instinct  teaches 
men  to  love  and  fight  for  home  and  native  land  without 
reasoning  how,  why,  or  what  for.  But  among  their  ranks, 
to  this  instinct  was  added  trained  and  educated  reason;  in- 
tellect stored  with  the  political  axioms  of  liberty  and  fraught 
with  the  traditions  and  learning  of  a  liberty-loving  people. 
Blot  out  all  constitutions  and  governments  and  bills  of  rights 
and  all  municipal  regulations  for  the  conduct  of  men,  and 
there  was  the  constructive  ability  in  that  army  without 
model  to  meet  in  solemn  convention  and  frame  a  new  bill 
of  rights,  a  new  constitution,  and  new  laws,  and  put  in  play 
all  the  machinery  for  the  thorough  protection  of  all  human 
rights.  And  if  in  the  fate  of  war  the  entire  roster  of  officers 
had  been  killed,  the  epaulettes  would  have  fallen  on 
shoulders  in  the  rank  and  file  of  equal,  often  perhaps,  of 
superior  ability.  Hence  when  the  conflict  came  it  was  a 
contest  of  endurance.  Hence,  when  the  intelligence  of  the 
rank  and  file  saw  the  blunders  of  their  leaders,  or  saw  men 


MEMORIAL  DAY  ADDRESS  165 

who  had  never  seen  service  placed  in  command  of  veteran 
regiments  through  the  merchandise  of  corrupt  politics,  they 
endured  and  made  no  murmur.  The  educated  heart  and 
brain  behind  the  guns  were  the  deciding  power  in  battle  and 
the  national  healer  after  it. 

Although  the  soldier  never,  never  could  forget,  and 
never  could  forgive  the  fiendish  and  deliberate  atrocities  of 
Andersonville,  yet,  when  surrender  came,  the  blue  and  the 
gray  ate  from  the  same  rations  and  smoked  the  same  pipe. 
Nowhere  else,  in  no  other  country,  with  no  other  army  could 
this  have  occurred.  To  me  it  seems  as  if  the  lesson  of  the 
hour,  the  lesson  which  the  lives  of  the  heroic  dead  teaches, 
is  the  overwhelming  power  of  an  idea,  and  American  his- 
tory is  its  most  astonishing  illustration.  We  boast  of 
American  liberty,  but  attempt  to  define  it  and  its  receding 
boundaries  elude  the  grasp  of  definition  and  vanish  in  a 
foggy  distance.  It  is  the  liberty  of  individual  growth. 

The  central  truth  of  American  civilization  is  that 
government  is  made  for  man  and  not  man  for  government. 
And  it  is  the  only  nation  on  the  face  of  the  earth  or  found 
in  the  records  of  history  whose  government  was  based  on 
that  central  truth.  The  Roman  republic  was,  perhaps,  the 
nearest  approach  to  it.  There  the  citizen  enjoyed  the 
widest  liberty,  not  because  a  free  government  made  a  better, 
a  happier  or  a  greater  citizen,  but  because  a  free  citizen  made 
a  strong  government.  Ours  has  a  broader  basis.  The 
function  of  government  is  to  give  the  opportunity  for  indi- 
vidual growth,  and  individual  duty  to  government  ends 
where  it  has  given  to  government  the  power  to  grant  equal 
protection  to  each  individual.  The  citizen  is  the  main 


166  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

thing  and  the  government  the  incidental;  by  that  I  mean 
equal  rights  to  all  and  favors  to  none. 

What  do  you  say,  then,  when  you  see  your  government 
conferring  special  privileges;  for  instance,  granting  large 
bodies  of  land  to  a  few  men  called  a  railroad  company, 
while  hungry  millions  hunt  for  homes  in  vain?  I  tell  you 
it  is  a  traitor  to  its  trust  and  an  enemy  has  its  hand  upon  the 
throat  of  American  liberty. 

And  what  grand  results  in  individual  life  have  grown 
out  of  this  underlying  idea  of  individual  development !  It 
has  made  possible  such  men  as  Jackson,  and  Benton,  and 
Lincoln,  and  Garfield,  and  a  multitude  whose  names  would 
fill  a  book.  Whence  came  this  American  idea  of  individual 
growth?  Jefferson  embodied  it  in  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence, but  the  great  Preacher  of  Judea  was  its  author. 
The  burden  of  the  whole  labor  of  His  life  was  the  individual 
soul  and  its  growth,  regardless  of  race,  color,  age,  or  sex. 
He  preached  repentance  to  the  individual  not  to  nations, 
and  the  condition  of  salvation  was  individual  regeneration. 
It  took  the  world  nearly  two  thousand  years  to  learn  that 
the  same  principle  which  applies  with  such  perfect  adapta- 
tion to  individual  spiritual  life  applies  as  well  to  national 
and  political  life. 

When  one  has  studied  the  whole  history  of  what  I  call 
the  American  idea,  whether  he  be  Christian  or  infidel, 
intellectual  honesty  will  compel  him  to  confess  that  its 
foundation  is  the  New  Testament.  And  here  is  one  of  these 
strange  situations  so  often  in  the  history  of  great  ideas. 
Their  grandest  teachers  come  from  the  most  diverse  sources. 
Thomas  Jefferson,  himself  an  infidel,  embodied  in  the 


MEMORIAL  DAY  ADDRESS  167 

Declaration  of  Independence  the  grand,  vital  truth  of  the 
New  Testament;  and  his  strongest  aid  in  its  adoption  was 
Benjamin  Franklin,  likewise  an  infidel.  And  so  it  came  to 
pass  that  the  greatest  republic  and  the  purest  religion  the 
world  has  ever  known  are  planted  upon  the  same  eternal 
rock  of  truth — individual  liberty,  personal  development. 
Thus  "the  stone  which  the  builders  refused  is  become  the 
headstone  of  the  corner."  The  truth  is,  politically  we  are 
all  Christian  disciples;  the  trouble  is,  half  of  us  fail  to  learn 
the  source  of  light,  or  when  we  learn  are  too  obstinate  to 
confess  it.  Such  was  the  liberty  which  our  heroes  died  to 
defend;  and  ours  the  only  government  on  earth,  the 
guardian  of  such  liberty. 

What  potent  factors  in  the  world's  great  problems, 
whether  in  nature  or  in  politics,  are  the  silent  things  of  life ! 
Large  areas  of  my  adopted  State,  which  lie  thousands  of 
feet  above  the  surface  of  the  sea,  are  still  covered  with  sea- 
shells.  Some  time  in  the  remote  past  the  earthquake's  shock 
and  the  volcano's  upheaval  have  lifted  this  floor  of  the  ocean, 
thousands  of  feet  below  its  surface,  up  to  its  present  posi- 
tion, thousands  of  feet  above.  Yet  for  ages  it  remained  a 
desert.  It  was  the  silent  and  unseen  forces  of  nature  that 
accomplished  its  redemption.  The  quiet  but  titanic  power 
of  frost  dissolved  the  unyielding  lava  and  the  adamantine 
rock,  and  the  sunshine  added  its  potent  chemistry,  and  the 
gentle  rains  were  the  pack-trains  to  bring  together  the  scanty 
soil  and  make  fertile  spots,  and  birds  planted  seeds,  until, 
after  revolving  centuries  had  passed,  the  desert  plains  and 
barren  gorges  blossomed  in  a  wilderness  of  beauty,  and  the 


i68  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

stalwart  oak  and  the  stately  pine  pronounced  it  the  fit 
habitation  of  man. 

The  Book  tells  us  that  after  the  slaughter  of  the 
prophets  of  Baal,  and  Jezebel  had  sent  her  threatening  mes- 
sage to  Elijah  that  another  day  should  find  him  as  one  of 
them,  he  received  the  order  to  stand  in  the  mountain  of 
Horeb,  before  the  Lord.  While  awaiting  the  divine  appear- 
ance, a  great  and  strong  wind  swept  the  mountain.  The 
gnarled  oak,  whose  roots  for  centuries  had  twined  around  the 
firm  rocks,  and  which  had  fed  upon  the  bosom  of  the  storm, 
snapped  like  pipestems,  and  the  rocks  broke  in  pieces.  But 
God  was  not  in  the  wind.  Then  when  the  terrors  of  the  tor- 
nado had  hardly  passed  there  came  an  earthquake.  Its  giant 
tread  as  it  strode  from  peak  to  peak  made  the  earth  reel,  and 
the  granite  walls  of  the  mountain  tumbled  like  the  toy  house 
of  a  child.  But  God  was  not  in  the  earthquake.  Then  in 
the  path  of  the  tornado  and  the  earthquake  swept  a  fire, 
making  the  desolation  doubly  desolate.  But  God  was  not 
in  the  fire.  All  this  pageantry  of  power  failed  to  reach  the 
divine  element  in  the  prophet's  soul.  But  when,  after  the 
fire,  he  heard  the  "still  small  voice"  he  wrapped  his  face  in 
his  mantle;  he  knew  the  call,  and  went  out  to  listen  to  the 
divine  command. 

We  read  the  story;  we  call  these  things  miracles;  yet 
the  same  miracle  is  going  on  every  day  and  all  around  us. 
It  is  the  "still  small  voice"  which  reaches  the  heart,  and  con- 
vinces the  understanding,  and  converts  the  world,  and  leads 
to  a  higher  and  a  holier  civilization,  where  the  earthquake 
shock  of  war  and  the  tornado  of  battle  and  the  destruction 
by  fire  and  the  sabre-stroke  leave  only  desolation  and  bitter- 


MEMORIAL  DAY  ADDRESS  169 

ness  and  hate  behind.  The  critical  period  in  our  national 
history  was  after  the  war;  when  the  enemies  of  the  republic 
acknowledged  defeat  and  stacked  arms  in  token  of  submis- 
sion. In  form,  the  Union  was  preserved;  in  fact,  it  was  a 
union  but  in  name.  The  functions  of  government  remained 
intact,  but  among  the  masses  at  the  South,  especially  those 
who  had  never  worn  the  gray,  there  was  the  sting  of  defeat, 
a  sense  of  poverty,  and,  above  all,  a  lingering  love  for  the 
Lost  Cause.  At  the  North,  and  especially  among  the  masses 
who  had  made  politics  a  profession,  and  those  who  had 
fed  and  fattened  on  the  merchandise  of  war,  and  had  never 
worn  the  blue,  there  was  the  exultation  of  victory,  and  a 
clamor  for  the  further  degradation  and  punishment  of  the 
conquered  South.  Out  of  this  state  of  things  could  grow 
no  "union  of  hearts  and  union  of  hands." 

No  such  sentiments  actuated  those  who  had  faced 
-each  other  in  battle.  They  entertained  reciprocal  feelings 
-of  consideration  and  respect.  When  General  Lee  delivered 
up  his  sword  to  General  Grant  at  Appomattox,  it  carried 
with  it  the  Confederate  arms  and  munitions  of  war,  includ- 
ing the  horses.  "Keep  your  horses,"  said  Grant,  "for  you 
will  have  use  for  them  to  aid  you  in  restoring  the  South,"  and 
that  sentiment  was  echoed  by  every  Union  soldier  in  the 
.service.  The  exhibition  of  this  noble  policy  on  the  part  of 
General  Grant  was  the  "still  small  voice,"  more  potent 
than  the  thunder  of  his  artillery  in  binding  up  and  healing 
the  broken  and  shattered  Union;  and  be  it  said  to  the  honor 
of  our  poor  abused  human  nature,  that  when  a  few  weeks 
.since  a  nation  hung  with. bated  breath  upon  the  latest  news 
from  what  was  believed  to  be  the  dying  bed  of  the  old  hero, 


170  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

the  united  voice  of  a  grieving  and  bereaved  South  demon- 
strated that  no  bitterness  dwelt  in  the  Southern  heart,  and 
that  the  "still  small  voice"  had  been  heard  and  had  done 
its  perfect  work. 

At  the  surrender  of  Appomattox  the  Blue  and  the  Gray 
shared  rations  and  fraternized  on  the  spot.  Looking  back 
over  the  twenty  years  of  peace,  since  intervening,  I  firmly 
believe  that  could  the  reconstruction  of  the  rebel  States  and 
their  rehabilitation  with  the  powers  of  government,  under 
new  constitutions  adapted  to  the  new  order  of  things,  have 
been  left  to  the  men  who  wore  the  blue  and  the  gray,  and 
under  the  leadership  and  experience  of  men  like  Generals 
Grant,  Sherman,  Lee,  and  Johnston,  many  of  the  disgrace- 
ful and  dangerous  features  of  the  reconstruction  period 
would  have  been  avoided;  for  even  in  the  hour  of  the 
nation's  sorest  need,  men  found  their  way  into  political  life 
and  sat  in  the  halls  of  Congress  whose  escutcheon  bore  the 
motto,  "Self  first;  country  afterwards."  Administrative 
officers  receiving  appointments  under  the  "spoils  system," 
the  friends  and  relatives  of  unworthy  congressmen,  ap- 
pointed at  their  special  instance,  so  frequently  unqualified 
for  their  duties,  and  more  frequently  far  removed  from 
political  or  moral  purity,  evolved  results  from  their  control 
of  governmental  functions  more  disastrous  than  the  visita- 
tions of  war,  pestilence,  and  famine,  in  that  they  vitiated 
that  sense  of  public  honesty  without  which  no  popular  gov- 
ernment can  long  endure. 

The  treatment  of  the  rebel  States  as  subjected  prov- 
inces was  of  course  entirely  at  variance  with  every  principle 
of  popular  government,  and  however  necessary  it  might 


MEMORIAL  DAY  ADDRESS  171 

have  been  as  a  temporary  measure,  it  had  nothing  in  it 
which  could  build  up  a  Union  sentiment  so  vital  to  the  life 
of  the  republic.  And  here  again  became  apparent  the  om- 
nipotent power  of  the  "still  small  voice."  It  is  always  the 
unexpected  that  astonishes  mankind;  it  is  the  simplicity  of 
success  that  leaves  us  in  wonder. 

Columbus  discovered  a  new  world  by  sailing  west.  Any 
sailor  could  have  done  it.  It  remained  for  him  to  conceive 
it.  After  the  war  and  when  the  republic  had  been  living 
on  credit  so  many  years,  wise  men  wrestled  with  the  ques- 
tion, "How  shall  we  resume  specie  payment*?  "  The  great 
political  parties  wrangled  over  it,  and  said  some  wise  and 
many  foolish  and  bitter  things.  Meanwhile  the  nimble 
fingers  of  industry  and  the  giant  wheels  of  enterprise  were 
multiplying  wealth.  Ships  dotted  thickly  the  bosom  of 
the  deep,  their  prows  turned  to  Europe,  laden  with  the  sur- 
plus wealth  of  the  shop  and  the  soil.  It  resulted  that  while 
the  prophets  of  evil  filled  the  air  with  forebodings  of  bank- 
ruptcy and  distress  specie  payment  resumed  itself.  It  was 
the  "still  small  voice" — the  silent  power  of  an  industrious 
and  commercial  people — a  voice  unexpected  and  unheard  in 
the  din  of  partizan  clamor,  which  redeemed  the  nation's 
credit. 

And  so  it  has  been  in  the  creation  and  growth  of  the 
Union  sentiment  in  the  South.  The  cementing  power  has 
come  from  a  source  modest,  hidden,  and  unexpected.  It 
may  not  have  the  finish  of  rhetoric.  It  may  not  be  fash- 
ioned on  what  you  might  call  the  model  of  the  classics,  but 
I  firmly  believe  that  I  state  to  you  the  sober,  unvarnished 
truth  of  history,  when  I  declare  to  you  that  the  dry  goods 


172  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

drummer,  the  commercial  traveler,  as  he  loves  best  to  be 
called,  has  done  more  to  develop  love  of  the  Union  in  the 
South,  and  to  draw  around  the  reunited  States,  among  its 
Southern  citizens,  a  battalion  of  defenders,  whose  fealty  can 
never  falter,  than  all  the  cogitations  of  Congress  and  the 
pompous  parade  of  political  oratory  which  has  deluged  the 
country  like  a  flood.  In  other  words  it  is  the  fellowship  and 
community  of  commerce;  it  is  the  intermarriage  of  enter- 
prise and  trade  which  has  builded  a  Union  on  the  broad 
foundations  established  by  the  armies  of  the  republic, 
stronger  and  better  than  our  beloved  country  has  ever 
known. 

I  trust  I  shall  not  be  charged  with  egotism  if  I  use  an 
illustration  on  this  silent,  cohesive,  cementing  power  of 
commerce  in  the  interest  of  a  united  country,  from  my  recent 
personal  observations  in  the  South,  and  I  take  Atlanta  as 
the  example.  Prior  to  the  war,  Atlanta  numbered  eighteen 
thousand  inhabitants;  it  was  something  of  a  cotton  mart, 
and  was  an  important  center  of  supplies  for  the  Confederacy 
during  the  war.  When  Sherman  made  his  memorable 
march  "from  Atlanta  to  the  sea,"  he  literally  wiped  it  out. 
There  were  left  three  or  four  churches  and  as  many  private 
houses.  Fire,  shot,  and  shell  had  ruined  the  rest.  It  has 
been  said  that  at  the  close  of  the  war,  crape  hung  on  every 
third  door  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  but  the  people  of 
Atlanta  had  not  even  the  doors  left  on  which  to  hang  the 
crape.  The  people  of  the  South  were  poor;  they  were  very 
poor;  and  if  there  is  any  stronger  term  denoting  a  deep  pov- 
erty, its  use  would  be  warranted  by  the  facts.  They  had  not 
the  means  of  living,  nor  the  means  or  power  of  earning  it. 


MEMORIAL  DAY  ADDRESS  173 

Their  country  had  been  the  foraging  ground  of  both  armies, 
and  there  was  literally  nothing  left  but  the  ground,  and 
under  the  depleting  system  of  slave  labor,  which  took  all 
from  the  soil  and  returned  nothing,  the  ground  was  un- 
worthy of  ownership.  They  lacked  the  opportunity  to 
work;  many  had  for  the  first  time  to  learn  how. 

Meantime  Northern  men  had  grown  rich  through  the 
commerce  of  war.  Their  warehouses  were  bursting  with 
the  products  of  the  loom  and  the  shop.  Commercial  trav- 
elers were  abroad.  They  found  Atlanta  people  sitting  in 
the  ashes.  They  were  agents  for  Northern  capital,  and 
capitalists  came  and  built  railroads,  machine  shops,  forges, 
and  factories,  and  Southern  people  filled  them  and  worked, 
and  learned  how  to  work;  and  thus  they  wrought  out  their 
own  salvation.  Southern  men  are  in  all  the  administrative 
situations  in  the  South.  Conductors,  brakemen,  engineers, 
station  men,  telegraph  operators,  are  of  the  best  blood  of 
the  South.  Factory  girls  and  women  at  the  looms  are  from 
both  North  and  South.  A  lady  in  the  Kimball  cotton  mills, 
an  operative  whose  speech  betrayed  her  Southern  birth,  in- 
formed me  that  boys  and  girls  earned  from  forty  to  sixty 
cents  each,  and  she  $1.35  per  day.  That  told  the  story  of 
a  prosperous,  industrious  community,  who  had  learned  the 
divine  remedy  for  nearly  all  of  human  ills — the  blessed 
infliction  of  labor. 

And  now  the  music  of  the  forge  and  the  loom  plays 
the  wedding  march  of  the  united  North  and  South.  Atlanta 
is  a  beautiful  city,  thoroughly  and  handsomely  built,  and 
numbering  58,000  people,  who  are  proud  of  their  town.  Its 
citizens  are  from  the  North  and  South;  there  is  no  jealousy 


174  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

or  bitterness  between  them.  It  is  full  of  young  men,  bora 
in  the  South,  and  with  business  instincts,  who  have  gravi- 
tated there  where  business  is.  The  Northern  man  with  capi- 
tal selects  his  agents  and  partners  from  among  them.  It  is 
this  new  South  and  new  North  with  broad  views  who  have 
joined  hands  with  the  older  men  there,  with  sentiments  like 
General  Shields  of  Mississippi,  who  control  public  sentiment 
and  political  power.  They  are  building  up  a  common  bond 
of  union  which  can  never  be  broken,  "and  the  gates  of  hell 
shall  not  prevail  against  it." 

What  is  true  of  Atlanta  is  equally  true  in  all  the  cen- 
ters of  Southern  commerce.  Birmingham,  Meridian,  Nash- 
ville, Chattanooga,  and  Knoxville  have  risen  like  young 
giants  refreshed  from  their  slumbers,  and  have  accomplished 
results  to  shame  the  labors  of  Hercules.  They  smite  the 
mountains  and  tunnel  the  earth,  and  tardily  they  yield  their 
generous  treasure.  The  school  and  the  church  are  their  tem- 
ples of  wisdom  and  religion,  and  the  arteries  of  commerce 
throb  with  a  pure  and  healthful  life.  They  may  success- 
fully challenge  any  of  the  cities  of  the  republic  to  show 
among  its  young  men  less  of  indolence  and  debauchery, 
dissipation,  and  crime,  and  more  of  honesty,  industry,  en- 
ergy, sobriety,  and  virtue.  Wherever  the  spirit  of  com- 
merce has  come,  even  the  old  men  who  lost  all,  and  who  are 
yet  poor,  look  you  squarely  in  the  face  and  pronounce  that 
no  such  material  prosperity  as  they  now  witness  could 
have  been  attained  under  the  slave  system;  that  the 
new  order  of  things  has  been  the  salvation  of  the  young  men, 
and  that  their  last  days  are  better  than  their  first.  If  there 
be  any  who  still  hug  the  old  delusions,  and  drone  over 


MEMORIAL  DAY  ADDRESS  175 

the  glories  of  the  Lost  Cause,  it  is  at  the  remote  cross-roads, 
where  the  railway,  the  daily  paper,  the  schoolhouse,  and 
the  spirit  of  commerce  have  not  yet  reached.  Their  time, 
however,  is  sure  to  come.  But  the  South,  the  great  regener- 
ated, commercial  South,  unite  to  shout  the  chorus  of  "The 
Union  Forever." 

Already  too  long  have  I  wearied  your  patience.  Drop 
a  pebble  in  the  middle  of  the  glassy  lake,  and  the  receding 
wave  spreads  onward  and  outward  until  it  laps  the  farthest 
shore.  So  the  lesson  of  this  day  reaches  out,  in  circles,  ever 
widening  and  in  boundless  perspective. 

They  whose  graves  we  meet  today  to  decorate  and  to 
whose  high  courage  and  patriotic  devotion  we  humbly  bow 
in  honor,  we  could  not  forget  if  we  would;  we  would  not 
if  we  could. 

"Forgotten?    No,  we  never  do  forget; 
We  let  the  years  go ;   wash  them  clean  with  tears, 
Leave  them  to  bleach  out  in  the  open  day, 
Or  lock  them  careful  by,  like  dead  friends'  clothes, 
Till  we  shall  dare  unfold  them  without  pain — 
But  we  forget  not,  never  can  forget." 

I  see  before  me  men  who  survived  to  bear  the  ensign 
of  victory  where  your  comrades  fell.  What  fit  word  can  I 
say  to  you,  ye  heroes  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic? 
Since  then  almost  a  generation  has  passed.  The  firmer  tread 
of  middle  age  has  followed  the  elastic  step  of  youth.  Gray 
beards  and  scanty  locks  are  the  prophecy  of  advancing  years. 
To  you  and  to  me  the  forenoon  of  life  has  been  succeeded 
by  the  midday,  and  now  the  slanting  rays  of  the  western 
sun  are  projecting  our  ever-lengthening  shadows  towards 
the  east. 


176  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

We  have  all  seen  our  beloved  country,  redeemed  by 
your  valor,  marching  on  in  a  career  of  prosperity  which  has 
been  the  envy  and  admiration  of  the  world.  Upon  her 
wide  domain  the  sunshine  ever  falls;  for  while  the  dark 
forests  of  Alaska  are  casting  their  shadows  athwart  the 
mountainside  in  the  western  sun,  already  the  glint  of  its 
eastern  rays  has  lighted  the  coasts  of  Maine. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic:  The 
gratitude  of  a  great  nation  is  your  monument,  more  lasting 
than  brass.  May  the  Great  Almighty  Hand  that  holds 
within  It  the  destinies  of  nations  have  you  in  Its  tender 
keeping ! 


tfye  Settlers  of  Tulare  Count? 


in  Vlsalia  at  tt>e  Valley 
Celebration*  September  9,  189  7 


I  have  heard  Tulare  called  the  "God-forsaken";  not 
once,  but  often;  not  seldom,  but  generally.  Rumor,  lying 
Rumor,  has  given  Tulare  a  reputation  away  from  home 
which  she  doesn't  deserve. 

My  friends,  I  am  a  sinner.  I  have  sinned  against 
Tulare.  I  believed  what  Madame  Rumor  said  of  her,  but 
I  have  seen  the  light.  I  came  here  for  the  first  time  ten 
years  ago.  I  came  to  scoff;  I  remained  to  pray.  And  now 
at  this  love-  feast  of  the  faithful  will  you  kindly  indulge 
me  a  few  moments  to  hear  the  story  of  my  conversion*? 

When  I  first  came  here  I  heard  the  song  of  the  sirens; 
not  the  females  that  live  on  the  rocky  islands  of  the  Medi- 
terranean, gifted  with  such  sweet  music  that  the  passing 
sailor  yielded  to  the  hypnotic  spell,  turned  his  prow  to  the 
fatal  rocks  and  met  shipwreck  and  disaster,  rather  than 
miss  the  charm  of  their  voices.  Not  that  kind.  They  were 
male  sirens;  the  San  Joaquin  real  estate  agents.  They 
sang  no  less  sweetly  than  their  sisters  of  the  rocky  islands  of 
the  Mediterranean.  They  lured  me  away  to  the  foothills 
of  the  Sierras.  When  we  came  back  they  had  my  money, 
and  I  owned  a  ranch  in  Antelope  Valley.  I  tell  you,  if 
you  would  avoid  the  fascinations  of  the  San  Joaquin  sirens, 
you  must  do  as  Homer  says  Ulysses  did  when  he  sailed  by 


178  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

the  islands  of  the  sirens;  he  plugged  his  sailors'  ears  with 
wax  and  tied  himself  fast  to  the  ship's  mast  until  they  had 
sailed  far  past  the  sirens  and  their  fascinations. 

In  the  fall  of  1888,  I  moved  up  here  with  all  my 
household  goods  in  a  Southern  Pacific  box-car,  and  paid 
$63  freight.  I  have  heard  that  corporation  abused,  reviled, 
railed  at,  and  denounced  for  extortion,  cupidity,  and  mean- 
ness; reaping  where  it  has  not  sown  and  gathering  where 
it  has  not  strewn.  I  do  not  see  why.  No  agency  has  done 
so  much  to  settle  Tulare  with  a  permanent  population.  It 
takes  all  we  have  to  get  here.  It  takes  all  we  can  raise  to 
get  our  crops  to  market,  except  a  little  for  seed,  and  we  are 
bound  to  stay.  Is  it  not  a  benevolent  and  enlightened 
policy — this  management  of  the  Southern  Pacific,  which 
has  settled  this  county  with  a  permanent  population^ 
During  the  tide  of  emigration  to  the  Dakotas,  eastern  roads 
made  a  rate  of  $38  a  carload  from  Buffalo  to  Fargo,  a  dis- 
tance of  1,200  miles.  I  paid  $63  a  carload  from  Oakland 
to  Kaweah,  a  distance  of  250  miles.  I  submit  that  those 
eastern  roads  have  not  learned  the  first  principles  of 
railroading. 

That  fall  I  began  farming.  At  length  my  land  was 
plowed  and  the  seed  sown.  Heaven  sent  the  south  wind, 
the  sunshine,  and  the  rain.  God  performed  his  miracle  of 
the  growing  grain,  and  harvest  came,  and  we  had  about 
$8,000  worth  of  grain,  here  in  Tulare,  the  God-forsaken. 
Two  or  three  years  ago  they  had  a  famous  revival  here  in 
Visalia.  In  the  audience  was  a  man  who  had  a  large  ex- 
perience of  the  world.  He  had  sailed  on  every  sea;  he  had 
been  a  miner  in  Australia,  in  Nevada,  in  Arizona,  and  in 


TO  THE  SETTLERS  OF  TULARE  COUNTY   179 

California,  and  finally  settled  in  Visalia.  Everybody 
attended  the  revival,  and  this  man  among  them.  The  re- 
vivalist painted  the  beauties  of  Paradise;  and  so  vivid  was 
the  description  that  almost  every  one  could  see  the  golden 
streets,  the  gates  of  pearl,  the  pure  river  of  the  water  of 
life,  clear  as  crystal,  with  the  tree  of  life  on  either  side 
yielding  every  month  the  twelve  manner  of  fruits.  He 
painted  also  the  other  world,  where  hope  is  lost  and  horrors 
live;  where  regret  and  remorse,  hopeless  and  awful,  gnaw 
at  the  heartstrings  forever  and  forever. 

"Now,"  said  the  speaker,  "all  who  want  to  go  to 
heaven,  please  rise,"  and  all  arose  except  the  miner.  The 
audience  was  seated.  "Now,"  said  the  speaker,  "all  who 
want  to  go  to  hell  arise."  No  one  arose.  "My  friend," 
said  the  speaker,  addressing  the  miner,  "don't  you  want  to 
go  to  heaven*?" 

"No,"  said  he,  "I  don't  want  to  go  to  heaven." 

The  speaker  paused  a  moment.  He  had  never  met 
such  a  man  before.  "Well,"  said  he,  "you  don't  want  to 
go  to  hell,  do  you*?" 

"No,"  said  the  miner,  "I  don't  want  to  go  to  hell." 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go?" 

"I  don't  want  to  go  anywhere,"  said  the  miner, 
"Tulare  is  good  enough  for  me." 

When  I  looked  on  that  wheat  crop  I  thought  the  same: 
Tulare,  the  God-forsaken,  is  good  enough  for  me. 

Did  you  ever  see  God's  miracle  of  spring  in  the  San 
Joaquin*?  If  not,  you  have  missed  one  of  the  world's 
greatest  wonders.  In  the  month  of  March,  1889,  I  drove 
from  Antelope  Valley  to  Visalia  through  a  continuous 


i8o  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

flower-bed  eleven  miles  long,  and  on  either  side,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  and  farther;  miles  and  miles  to  the 
north,  and  as  far  to  the  south,  was  the  same  bewildering 
and  dazzling  prodigality  of  flowers  blazing  in  all  the  colors 
of  the  rainbow,  and  filling  the  air  with  their  perfume. 

Northeast  of  our  house  in  Antelope  Valley  was  a  little 
delta — perhaps  a  quarter  acre — formed  by  the  junction  of 
two  small  arroyos,  lively  streams  on  a  rainy  day  and  dry 
at  other  times — too  small  and  too  gravelly  to  sow  to  grain. 
This  spot  Dame  Nature  seized  upon  to  show  her  skill  as  a 
flower-gardener.  She  left  no  square  inch  uncovered.  In 
the  combination  of  colors,  in  the  gorgeousness  and  blinding 
brilliancy  of  hues,  a  landscape  gardener  would  die  of  envy 
and  despair  should  he  try  to  imitate  them.  My  partner 
(that  is,  my  wife)  one  day  gathered  from  this  flower-bed  a 
house  bouquet.  There  were  forty-three  varieties.  In  two  or 
three  weeks  all  these  varieties  had  disappeared  and  their 
places  were  supplied  by  others,  no  less  in  variety  or  in 
gorgeousness  of  color.  Later  on  came  the  beautiful  Mari- 
posa  lily  lifting  her  majestic  head  above  the  wheat,  smiling 
and  bowing  her  compliments  to  every  passing  breeze.  The 
spring  wore  on;  the  hills  grew  brown;  then  came  a  blush 
of  pink  flowers  all  over  the  hillsides,  and  in  every  canon. 
It  was  Nature's  last  effort  to  adorn  herself  for  burial.  The 
hot  breath  of  the  summer  came;  it  kissed  the  growing  grain, 
it  turned  to  gold;  it  kissed  the  flower-decked  valleys  and 
hillsides,  and  they  put  on  the  russet  robes  of  death.  Death, 
death,  death  everywhere! 

And  shall  death  reign  forevermore*?  And  shall  life 
come  nevermore?  Ah,  my  friends,  God's  miracle  of 


TO  THE  SETTLERS  OF  TULARE  COUNTY   181 

spring — we  know  that  life  and  beauty  shall  come  again. 
If  the  Good  Father  has  touched  the  pulseless  heart  of  the 
Mariposa  lily-bulb  with  the  precious  hope  of  another 
spring,  what  of  ourselves*?  If  we  die,  shall  we  live  again? 
If  I  had  ever  doubted  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  ex- 
perience of  one  springtime  here  in  Tulare,  the  God- forsaken, 
would  convince  me  beyond  the  possibility  of  a  doubt. 

I  have  been  in  every  State  of  this  Union,  nearly.  In 
Maine,  first  of  all  the  States  to  salute  the  morning  sun;  in 
Kentucky,  the  land  of  fast  horses  and  fair  women,  where 
every  third  man  is  a  judge,  and  all  the  rest  are  colonels;  in 
the  sandy  peninsula  of  Florida,  where  they  boast  of  flowers; 
in  Canada,  among  the  beautiful  Thousand  Islands  of  the 
St.  Lawrence;  in  Central  America  and  in  Mexico;  but  in 
the  beauty  and  lavish  luxuriance  of  its  wild  flowers,  Tulare 
takes  the  cake  and  wears  the  crown. 

In  the  month  of  May  I  rode  on  horseback  to  the  top 
of  the  ridge  which  separates  Antelope  Valley  from  the 
Lemon  Cove  country  and  the  Kaweah  River,  a  rise  of  800 
or  1,000  feet  above  the  floor  of  the  valley.  The  air  was 
clear.  With  a  field-glass,  valley  and  mountain  lay  before 
me  like  a  panorama.  At  my  feet  to  the  north  was  the 
Antelope  Valley,  like  a  brilliant  gem  in  its  mountain  set- 
ting; to  the  south,  the  beautiful  blue  Kaweah,  carrying  on 
its  bountiful  bosom  luxury  and  life  to  the  thirsty  valley 
below;  to  the  east  and  extending  north  and  south,  out  of 
sight,  range  on  range  piled  to  the  skies  the  grand  moun- 
tains, surmounted  at  the  sky-line  by  the  snow-capped 
Sierras;  to  the  west  and  extending  north  and  south  beyond 
the  line  of  vision  was  the  broad,  fertile  valley  of  the  San 


182  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

Joaquin,  threaded  everywhere  with  the  green  ribbon  of 
trees  and  verdure  where  the  snow-fed  living  waters  flow. 
Tulare  lake  glinted  in  the  sunlight.  In  the  distance  rail- 
road locomotives  with  sinews  of  steel  and  breath  of  fire 
tugged  and  puffed  at  their  burdens  like  tired  giants. 

The  beauty  and  grandeur  and  magnificence  of  that 
scene  I  can  not  describe;  perhaps  human  language  is  ade- 
quate, but  I  don't  know  how  to  use  it.  It  must  be  seen  to 
be  appreciated.  It  seems  to  me  that  only  the  painter's 
brush  and  the  artist's  soul  can  give  the  scene  fit  expression. 
And  wheat!  The  golden  wheat  at  my  feet  and  spreading 
out  in  never-ending  vistas,  bounded  only  by  the  power  of 
vision — wheat  enough  to  feed  a  State. 

Another  season,  drouth  came.  The  plains  were  naked 
and  the  mournful  bellowing  of  starving  cattle  pronounced 
the  coming  famine.  But  Tulare  has  learned  better  things. 
The  abundant  rivers  that  idly  sang  on  their  journey  to  the 
sea  have  been  harnessed  and  driven  out  in  ditches  and 
canals,  and  taught  to  do  the  bidding  of  man. 

Tulare  is  full  of  wonders.  Its  history  is  thrilling  and 
absorbing  —  not  its  human  history,  that  is  interesting 
enough,  but  I  mean  such  history  as  God  writes  in  forest 
and  river  and  valley;  in  majestic  mountains  where  the 
titans  of  fire  and  frost  have  left  their  writings  in  an  open 
book. 

Four  years  ago  you  had  set  up  here  in  the  streets  of 
Visalia  a  section  of  a  Tulare  sequoia,  on  its  way  to  the 
World's  Fair  at  Chicago.  It  was  twenty-eight  feet  in 
diameter,  and  more  than  twenty- three  hundred  years  old; 
and  it  might  have  lived  another  thousand  years  had  it  not 


TO  THE  SETTLERS  OF  TULARE  COUNTY   183 

been  murdered  in  a  green  old  age  by  the  ruthless  hand  of 
man  to  spread  Tul are's  fame  and  sate  the  curiosity  of  a 
mob  at  Chicago.  Think  of  the  life  of  that  tree!  When 
our  Savior  on  the  coast  of  Galilee  and  among  the  Judean 
hills  was  teaching  those  doctrines  that  thrilled  the  world 
and  created  a  new  civilization,  that  tree  was  a  vigorous, 
lusty  youth  of  four  hundred  years.  Empires  and  dynasties 
have  been  born,  grown  old  and  decayed,  but  the  tree  lived. 
One  generation  of  a  man's  life  is  a  little  over  thirty  years; 
one  generation  of  the  sequoia's  life  is  three  thousand. 
They  say  that  these  are  the  last  of  their  race;  that  four 
counties  of  this  State  hold  all  there  are  in  existence.  The 
man  of  science  further  says  that  time  was  when  the  sequoia 
flourished  away  within  the  arctic  circle  and  far  toward  the 
north  pole.  When?  When? 

Eight  or  ten  miles  east  of  Tulare  Lake  they  bored  an 
artesian  well  a  few  years  ago.  More  than  four  hundred 
feet  below  the  ground  the  auger  brought  up  chips  from  a 
redwood  log.  How  came  it  there,  and  when?  At  some 
time  the  San  Joaquin  Valley  was  a  gorge  sloping  down  the 
Sierras  on  the  east  and  the  Coast  Range  on  the  west,  to  the 
bottom  of  a  dark  and  yawning  chasm.  Later  it  became 
an  inland  sea.  The  rivers  from  the  eternal  snows  of  the 
Sierras  came  laden  with  sand  and  soil  and  with  forest  trees, 
snapped  by  mountain  storms,  and  dropped  their  burdens 
in  the  bottom  of  the  sea;  so  the  sea  filled  up  and  after  long 
ages  swamps  and  islands  appeared;  then  the  dry  land  came, 
the  rivers  ran  in  channels  and  the  valley  became  the  fit 
habitation  of  man.  When  was  this  valley  a  chasm? 
When  a  sea?  How  long  ago? 


184  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

The  sequoia  is  the  emblem  of  God's  This  Afternoon; 
the  building  of  this  valley  is  God's  This  Morning.  The 
man  of  science  calls  this  valley  a  modern  structure.  In 
human  years,  how  many? 

My  daughter  strolled  to  the  top  of  the  mountain 
south  of  our  house  and  returned  with  a  piece  of  the  petrified 
root  of  a  white-oak  tree.  The  process  of  petrifaction  had 
been  arrested,  for  with  the  point  of  a  knife  one  could  pick 
out  the  unpetrified  fibers  of  the  wood.  Where  did  that 
tree  grow,  and  when*?  Some  time  it  had  lain  in  mineral- 
laden  waters  until  it  was  transformed  to  stone;  how  long, 
and  when?  How  came  it  upon  the  barren  mountain  top? 
Did  the  volcano's  upheaval  lift  it  there  from  the  floor  of 
the  sea?  We  can  feel  with  Newton,  Huxley,  and  Darwin 
the  shortness  of  life,  and  the  narrowness  of  human  vision. 
Truly  it  is  an  infinite  treasure-house  of  wonders — this 
Tulare,  the  God-forsaken. 

Nine  years  ago  I  came  here  to  live.  The  twin  devils, 
dyspepsia  and  insomnia,  possessed  me;  they  called  it 
nervous  prostration.  Foothill  climate  invigorated  and 
energized  and  thrilled  like  rare  old  wine.  And  the  day- 
dawns  and  the  sunsets!  Italy,  the  beautiful,  can  not  rival 
them.  The  fountain  of  eternal  youth  which  Ponce  de 
Leon  died  in  seeking,  I  found  here  in  the  foothills  of 
Tulare. 

In  the  early  history  of  the  Methodist  church  in  In- 
diana, the  camp-meeting  was  an  institution.  They  gathered 
in  groves  and  lived  in  tents  for  weeks  in  communion  and 
worship.  The  presiding  elder  was  a  powerful  man, 
spiritually  and  physically,  equally  competent  to  persuade 


TO  THE  SETTLERS  OF  TULARE  COUNTY   185 

or  compel.  They  had  an  army  bugle  (they  called  it  a 
horn),  a  relic  of  the  Black  Hawk  war,  to  call  the  crowds 
to  prayer  and  worship;  and  when  the  presiding  elder  blew 
a  blast  from  the  bugle's  throat,  it  seemed  as  if  the  very 
soul  of  music  summoned  men  to  repent  and  believe.  The 
irreligious  and  the  mischievous  were  there,  and  they  fur- 
tively filled  the  bugle's  throat  with  soft  soap.  So  when 
the  presiding  elder  blew  the  bugle  blast  it  made  an  uncertain 
sound,  and  the  air  was  full  of  soap.  His  wrath  arose. 
Achilles  never  looked  more  warlike.  Said  he:  "My 
brethren,  I  have  been  a  humble  candle  of  the  Lord  for  more 
than  twenty  years ;  I  have  tried  to  be  a  consistent  Christian, 
but  by  the  grace  of  God  I  can  whip  the  man  that  put  soap 
in  the  horn!"  I  am  no  fighter;  I  try  to  be  a  good  citizen 
and  keep  the  peace.  But  to  hear  Tulare  called  the  God- 
forsaken makes  me  "tired,"  and  I  can  whip  the  man  who 
says  it. 

Is  farming  in  Tulare  always  a  picnic  or  a  summer 
dream*?  Do  $8,000  crops  come  every  year4?  Not  by  a 
large  majority.  The  most  generous  mother  must  enforce 
discipline.  When  her  boys  announce  that  hard  work  is 
played  out,  when  they  borrow  money  instead  of  earning  it, 
and  gamble  on  the  price  of  wheat  or  land,  and  make  mis- 
takes; when  they  ride  the  earth  to  death  with  successive 
crops  and  never  a  rest,  they  find  at  last,  "Earth  bears  no 
balsam  for  mistakes."  It  is  then  the  righteous  mother 
takes  her  offending  offspring  across  her  knee  and  lays  on 
the  hard  hand  where  it  will  do  the  most  good,  and  until 
Tepentance  comes.  You  know  how  it  is  yourself.  You 


i86  SPEECHES  AND  ORATIONS 

can  not  have  forgotten  your  childhood  and  your  mother's 
slipper. 

That  is  what  our  cherishing  mother,  Tulare,  the 
bountiful,  has  been  giving  us  for  the  last  six  years,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  she  would  never  smile  again.  "Weeping  may 
endure  for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning."  Our 
night  has  passed;  our  morning  has  come.  A  bushel  of 
wheat  brings  an  honest  dollar.  What  do  we  care  about  free 
silver*?  Steers  sell  at  six  and  one-half  cents;  the  Tulare 
mortgage-lifting  hog  is  a  gentleman;  raisins  are  rising;  wool 
has  doubled  in  price  within  a  year;  orchards  groan  under 
their  loads  of  fruit;  labor  finds  reward,  and  the  Valley  Road 
has  come!  What  more  can  we  want?  Last  year  we 
blamed  the  administration  for  low  wheat;  this  year  we 
know  that  the  laws  of  trade  control  the  price  of  wheat  re- 
gardless of  the  administration.  Experience  teaches  a  dear 
school. 

My  time  is  up.  I  want  to  speak  of  many  other  things ; 
of  the  argonauts  of  Tulare,  the  noble  men  and  women  who 
braved  the  torrent  and  desert  and  mountain,  to  settle 
Tulare;  of  the  magnificent  young  manhood  and  woman- 
hood which  they  have  reared;  of  your  schools  and  school- 
children, for  what  is  a  country  divorced  from  its  people"? 
The  soil  might  run  over  with  fatness;  savages  or  slaves 
might  cumber  it.  Some  other  time,  perhaps,  I  may  speak 
at  length. 

What  of  the  future?  "Eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard, 
neither  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man,"  the  things 
which  the  future  holds  for  us.  The  natural  capacities  of 
Tulare  for  material  prosperity  and  wealth  are  not  excelled 


TO  THE  SETTLERS  OF  TULARE  COUNTY   187 

by  any  county  in  the  State.  When  soil  and  water  are 
brought  together,  and  that  time  will  come,  every  inch  of 
her  foothill  and  valley  will  be  fertile  and  productive,  and 
then  Tulare  can  support  the  densest  agricultural  population 
on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

The  most  auspicious  event  for  this  community  in  a 
quarter  of  a  century  is  what  we  now  celebrate.  It  is  the 
greed  of  monopoly  that  grinds.  This  is  but  a  small  be- 
ginning. The  time  will  come  when  your  frostless  foothills 
will  glow  with  the  golden  fruitage  of  the  orange  and 
lemon  (they  have  begun  it  already),  and  here  will  be  the 
world's  supply  of  the  rarest  and  the  best.  There  are  im- 
prisoned giants  in  your  mountains.  Take  back  the  bolts, 
take  down  the  bars,  open  wide  the  doors,  let  loose  these 
giants  which  have  slept  through  ages,  and  electric  power 
will  move  your  cars,  will  turn  a  million  spindles,  make  the 
furnace  glow,  furnish  power  in  every  form,  light  your  cities, 
towns,  and  homes,  and  the  plow,  the  loom,  and  the  anvil 
will  sing  the  glad  chorus  of  a  rich,  an  industrious,  and  a 
happy  people. 


Tetters  o 


THE  ROAD  TO  SORRENTO 


Staples  an6  Vicinity 

NAPLES,  March  27,  1901. 
Dear  Uncle  and  Aunt : 

We  brought  with  us  Mark  Twain's  "Innocents 
Abroad"  and  are  verifying  it.  It  is  true  in  every  word 
and  line.  There  are  a  few  things  he  doesn't  treat  of.  All 
freighting  is  done  on  high-wheel,  narrow-tire  carts,  with 
thills  to  which  is  attached  a  horse,  cow,  ox,  or  donkey. 
More  power  is  evolved  by  putting  on  another  animal  to 
one  side,  and  still  more  by  putting  another  animal  on  the 
other  side.  I  saw  no  four-wheel  conveyance  for  any  pur- 
pose except  passengers.  The  loads  those  carts  carry  are 
enormous. 

Freight  and  cab  horses  are  very  small,  from  seven 
hundred  to  a  thousand  pounds,  and  sell  from  $15  to  $30. 
Carriage  horses  of  the  wealthy  are  large  and  fine.  Many 
of  the  freighters  are  propelled  by  a  small  ox,  a  very  small 
skinny  mule  and  a  still  more  attenuated  donkey  hardly 
larger  than  a  jack-rabbit.  Our  carriage  ride  to  Sorrento 
brought  us  over  the  beautiful,  level  farming  lands  drained 
by  the  Sarno.  It  is  one  wide  garden  in  small  holdings. 

Cauliflower,  cabbage,  artichokes,  carrots,  onions,  po- 
tatoes— everything  that  grows  in  a  Portuguese  garden 
grows  in  the  mellow,  fertile  soil,  including  the  horse  bean, 
now  in  blossom,  with  now  and  then  a  peach  tree  in  bloom. 
Beyond  the  gardens  a  fine  macadamized  road  of  good  grade 
winds  up  the  mountains;  the  view  is  entrancing — on  one 


192  LETTERS  OF  TRAVEL 

side  the  terraced  steeps,  covered  with  the  orange,  the  olive, 
and  the  vine,  with  often  a  monastery  perched  on  the  highest 
point,  while  below,  the  beautiful,  blue  bay  of  Naples,  with 
its  graceful  curves,  and  little  towns  gleaming  in  the  sun- 
light from  wooded  promontories  high  above  the  sea,  made 
a  charming  picture.  Such  a  place  was  Sorrento.  We  were 
given  quarters  that  harmonized  with  the  scenery.  Through 
a  garden  bright  with  flowers,  up  marble  stairs  lined  with 
potted  plants,  to  an  entrance  enclosed  with  trailing  vines, 
which  led  through  marble  halls  into  spacious  rooms,  the 
opposite  ends  opening  on  to  wide  balconies,  overlooking  the 
sea  way  below — this  was  fairyland  indeed  in  all  its  ap- 
pointments. Three  stories  of  balconies,  one  above  an- 
other. The  ladies  went  wild  when  they  found  they  were 
camped  in  what  had  once  been  a  palace — now,  Hotel 
Vittoria — fourteen  miles  from  Pompeii. 

In  the  suburbs  of  this  town  lives  Marion  Crawford, 
the  author.  The  next  day  we  were  given  our  choice  either 
to  go  by  sea  to  the  Blue  Grotto,  thence  by  boat  to  Naples,  or 
to  return  the  way  we  came — both  were  tempting.  It  was 
a  case  of 

"How  happy  could  I  be  with  either 
Were  t'other  dear  charmer  away," 

but  we  chose  the  carriage  road. 

Naples  is  a  city  of  half  a  million.  Old  Vesuvius 
smokes  serenely  night  and  day— a  perpetual  menace  which 
no  one  considers.  History  here  is  all  around  us.  Cicero 
had  a  summer  place  in  Pompeii  and  there  wrote  "De 
Officiis."  Virgil  lived  close  by  Naples,  and  here  is  his 
grave.  Sallust  had  a  home  here.  Julius  Caesar  had  a 


NAPLES    AND    VICINITY  193 

summer  palace  on  the  Island  of  Capri  here  in  the  bay,  and 
Augustus  Caesar  lived  there  afterward.  Tasso  lived  at 
Sorrento,  and  there  died.  It's  a  sort  of  creepy  country — 
as  if  Cicero  might  appear,  toga-clad,  and  begin  his  oration 
against  Catiline  in  the  ruined  courtroom  of  Pompeii.  I 
had  the  satisfaction  of  having  a  pair  of  able-bodied  de- 
secendants  of  Brutus  or  Caesar  carry  me  in  a  chair  through 
the  ruins  of  Pompeii  at  a  dollar  an  hour,  but  they  have  no 
religious  sense  of  the  sacredness  of  a  contract,  and  I  paid 
them  each  another  franc  for  Sunday  wine. 

Yours, 

NYE. 


O16  an&  tfye  3tew  in 

CAIRO,  EGYPT,  April  7. 
Dear  Robert : 

A  week  ago  yesterday  we  started  for  Upper  Egypt, 
Assouan,  about  700  miles  from  here,  being  the  objective 
point.  The  first  stopping  place  was  Luxor,  480  miles 
away,  where  are  the  ruins  of  ancient  Thebes,  a  city 
once  of  half  a  million.  The  valley  of  the  Nile  is  from 
five  to  fifty  miles  wide,  is  very  fertile,  and  depends  solely 
and  entirely  on  the  Nile  for  irrigation.  The  river  has  a 
continuous  stretch  of  1,800  miles  before  it  branches;  one 
branch  coming  from  Lake  Victoria  Nyanza,  which  it  drains, 
and  the  other  leading  from  another  direction.  And  when 
the  copious  summer  rains  come  in  Central  Africa,  then  the 
Nile,  about  the  middle  or  last  of  July,  begins  to  rise  and 
continues  until  along  in  October,  when  all  Egypt  is  literally 
and  absolutely  under  water,  except  the  foothills  and  a  few 
swells  of  land  in  the  valley.  All  the  people  move  to  the 
mud-huts  at  the  foothills. 

Egypt  is  absolutely  rainless;  a  few  showers  occurring 
in  a  year,  so  scant  as  to  evade  measurement  here  in  Lower 
Egypt,  but  in  Upper  Egypt  none.  Our  landlord  at 
Assouan  had  been  there  twelve  years;  not  a  drop  of  rain 
had  he  seen  but  twice,  and  then  only  scattering  drops.  In 
Lower  Egypt  are  copious  dews  most  of  the  year;  in  Upper 
Egypt  never  a  dew. 

At  Luxor  we  were  in  the  midst  of  wheat  and  barley 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  IN  EGYPT  195 

harvest,  wheat  averaging  twenty  bushels.  Here  at  Cairo 
it  is  54  cents  a  bushel.  When  the  water  of  the  Nile  falls, 
about  October  or  November,  and  the  ground  dries  enough, 
they  plow  and  sow  wheat  and  barley,  which  they  are  now 
harvesting.  As  soon  as  the  harvest  is  off,  the  land  must 
be  irrigated  from  wells  by  a  rude  kind  of  pump  or  water- 
wheel,  and  even  by  the  old-fashioned  well-sweep.  The 
water-wheel  is  generally  propelled  by  one  or  two  cattle  and 
discharges  about  1,680  gallons  an  hour.  The  ground  when 
wet  is  plowed  and  planted  to  Indian  corn,  which  ripens  in 
seventy  days;  from  planting  to  harvest,  corn  requires  wet- 
ting every  few  days,  and  one  farmer's  crop  is  from  three 
to  ten  acres.  Yellow  corn,  the  more  hardy,  yields  forty 
bushels  to  the  acre;  the  largest  white  dent  as  high  as 
seventy.  By  the  time  the  corn  harvest  is  over  the  Nile 
begins  to  swell;  wells  are  as  deep  as  the  level  of  the  Nile. 
Owing  to  the  difficulty  of  getting  water,  no  second  crop  is 
attempted  in  some  portions  of  Upper  Egypt. 

The  annual  output  of  wheat  and  maize  in  Egypt  is 
something  over  24,000,000  bushels.  Then  there  is  an  im- 
mense output  of  white  Egyptian  clover,  of  alfalfa,  cotton, 
peas  and  beans,  potatoes,  tomatoes,  and  a  thousand  things 
that  go  to  make  wealth  and  support  a  dense  population.  The 
harvest  is  to  us  funny;  no  wagon,  cart,  horse,  threshing- 
machine  is  in  the  outfit;  sickles  nine  or  ten  inches  long 
wielded  by  men  and  women  do  the  cutting;  grain  is  bound 
in  bundles,  and  carried  on  backs  of  camels  and  donkeys  to  the 
common  village  threshing  floor,  each  man's  stack  by  itself;  a 
single  watchman  protects  the  village  output  against  theft. 
Cattle  and  donkeys  tread  out  the  grain,  and  in  the  dry,  desic- 


196  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

eating  climate,  the  straw  breaks  up  into  chaff;  so  when 
threshing  is  over  nothing  is  left  but  chaff  and  grain.  The 
grain  is  winnowed  in  the  wind,  put  into  35o-pound  bags,  and 
the  camel  shambles  his  way  to  the  river  bank  or  train  and 
delivers  his  two  bags  at  a  load. 

A  camel  is  an  eternal  query.  I  saw  one  loaded  at 
Assouan  for  a  thirty  days'  trip  to  the  interior  of  Africa.  He 
kneeled  and  squatted  on  his  haunches  in  front  of  a  store; 
out  came  a  2o-gallon  cask  of  vinegar,  then  a  great  square 
box  of  merchandise,  then  a  5-gallon  demijohn  of  wine,  then 
more  boxes  and  bales,  until  on  his  long-enduring  back 
rested  a  burden  of  over  700  pounds,  bound  for  Khartoum, 
a  thousand  miles  away.  Every  eight  hours  his  burden  is 
removed  for  rest;  every  three  days  he  gets  water  and  every 
five  days  feed.  Such  is  the  camel — the  ship  of  the  desert. 
For  4,000  years  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and  of  Ind  has  pressed 
his  patient  back  to  reach  its  sure  destination.  His  day  is 
waning;  English  pluck  and  capital  have  pushed  the  civiliz- 
ing railway  half  way  from  Cairo  to  Khartoum,  and  white- 
bearded  men  are  now  living  who  shall  travel  from  Cairo  to 
Cape  Colony  by  rail.  Egypt  is  waking  from  the  sleep  of 
centuries,  and  her  last  days  shall  be  better  than  her  first. 
God  speed  the  day.  There  is  a  whole  lot  to  dream  about, 
but  I  started  to  state  facts.  You  can  do  your  own 
moralizing. 

Oh,  yes,  one  more  thing — the  stock;  Egypt  is  full  of 
it;  ordinary  cattle,  the  water  buffalo,  sheep  and  goats, 
which  furnish  the  meat  of  the  country.  England  has  taken 
the  management  of  Egypt  from  the  Khedive;  gives  him  a 
half  million  dollars  for  his  personal  expenses;  the  rest  of 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  IN  EGYPT          197 

the  income  goes  to  pay  interest  on  the  public  debt,  for 
internal  improvements,  and  for  the  betterment  of  the 
people.  So  that  the  fellaheen  (the  peasantry)  are  not  only 
living,  but  saving  money  and  putting  it  in  live-stock. 

Just  as  soon  as  the  harvest  is  off,  stock  is  turned  on 
to  eat  the  scanty  stubble,  and  when  the  threshing  floors  are 
empty  the  chaff  and  powdered  straw  go  to  make  fattened 
stock,  and  these  reach  the  abattoirs  of  Cairo  and  the  smaller 
towns  and  make  good  meat.  The  amount  of  live-stock  in 
Egypt  today  is  more  than  three  times  what  it  was  ten 
years  ago.  Labor  is  cheap.  Under  the  Khedive,  when 
the  canals  needed  cleaning,  and  the  sediment  from  six  inches 
to  two  feet  deep  had  to  be  taken  out  every  year,  he  made 
drafts  of  men  according  to  population,  and  even  though  it 
was  in  harvest  time,  the  poor  devils  had  to  work  for  noth- 
ing, getting  poor  board;  it  was  hard.  English  rule  has 
changed  all  that,  paying  two  piasters  (ten  cents)  a  day,  and 
there  is  always  plenty  of  labor  offering.  Harvest  hands, 
great  sinuous  six-footers,  lithe  and  strong,  get  from  two  to 
four  piasters  and  board  themselves. 

Last  Monday  morning  at  Luxor,  at  4  o'clock,  we  took 
a  boat  from  the  bluffs  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Nile  and 
crossed  to  the  west  side,  where  were  shallows,  there  to  take 
donkeys,  to  see  the  ruined  temples  of  Thebes.  We  ran  into 
the  shallows  still  fifteen  or  more  feet  from  the  shore.  I 
stood  upon  the  edge  of  the  boat  when  a  stalwart  son  of 
Cleopatra  came  up,  shoved  his  shoulder  between  my  legs, 
and  walked  off  with  me  to  dry  ground  and  without  a  grunt 
sat  me  on  a  donkey.  Dressed  in  a  dilapidated  nightgown 
with  a  turban  around  the  head,  barefooted,  barelegged, 


198  LETTERS  OF  TRAVEL 

sometimes  nude  except  the  turban,  fearless  of  sun  or  water, 
who  never  hunts  the  shade  when  the  record  is  110° — that's 
the  man  you  hire  in  the  harvest  field. 

Well,  here  we  are,  where  history,  on  obelisks  and 
pyramids  and  temples,  goes  back  towards  the  morning  of 
time.  We  are  within  two  hours'  donkey  ride  of  Goshen, 
where  Joseph  located  the  old  man  and  the  boys,  his 
brothers,  so  long  after  they  played  the  sneak  on  him  and 
put  him  in  the  pit,  but  repented  and  sold  him  to  the 
Bedouin  merchants  going  down  to  Egypt.  Well,  you  read 
over  again  the  story  of  Joseph,  Genesis,  fortieth  chapter  and 
on.  Joseph  was  a  brick;  the  brightest  of  the  lot;  was  sent 
down  by  the  old  man  to  see  how  the  sheep-herding  business 
was  getting  on  over  in  the  poverty-stricken  hills  adjoining 
Canaan. 

Egypt,  the  lower  part,  is  as  picturesque  a  country  as 
I  ever  looked  on.  Wide,  wide  stretches  of  country  level  as 
a  floor,  dotted  all  over  with  palm  trees,  the  golden  grain  in 
large  tracts,  showing  the  fertility  of  the  soil,  and  the  gardens 
and  green  pastures  of  alfalfa  and  clover,  the  golden  sun 
forever  shining  upon  the  sinuous,  lazy  Nile,  creeping  to 
the  sea — that's  what  meets  the  eye  now;  it  was  the  same 
3,800  years  ago  when  the  young  man  came  here  mounted  on 
the  hurricane  deck  of  a  camel,  and  I'll  bet  a  hat  he  saw  the 
difference  between  the  poor  hills  of  Palestine  and  this  fat 
land  which  he  then  saw  and  which  I  now  see,  and  he  saw 
that  the  chances  in  the  new  country  beat  sheep-herding  out 
of  sight.  What  happened  to  him  has  happened  to  many 
a  young  fellow  who  was  reared  in  small  surroundings,  but 
had  the  capacity  for  bigger  things.  He  became  Pharaoh's 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  IN  EGYPT          199 

right  bower;  he  got  up  a  corner  on  Egyptian  wheat — well, 
you  know  the  rest. 

Here  we  stand  in  sight  of  the  place  where  all  this 
occurred.  Tomorrow  we  go  to  Goshen.  There  was  no 
marvel  or  miracle  about  it.  He  was  worthy  to  have  been 
president  of  the  Vanderbilt  railroads,  and  would  have  been 
had  he  been  born  in  the  United  States,  say,  3,800  years  or 
so  later. 

Up  at  Assouan  we  saw  more  old  temples  and  palaces 
and  ruins.  We  also  saw  in  progress  the  most  stupendous 
feat  of  civil  engineering  of  modern  times.  They  are 
damming  the  Nile.  From  mountain  to  mountain  they  are 
stretching  a  dam  of  solid  granite  mason  work  one  and  a 
quarter  miles  long,  forty-six  feet  high  above  the  surface  of 
the  river,  and  going  to  bedrock  below,  in  some  places  eighty 
feet.  It  will  back  up  the  river  and  make  a  lake  140  miles 
long.  It  will  harness  the  Nile  so  that  when  the  engineer 
touches  the  button  the  Nile  will  go  here  or  there  at  his  be- 
hest. This  great  body  of  water  will  be  taken  out  in  canals 
to  give  life  and  fertility  to  millions  of  acres  of  now  desert 
waste.  It  will  cost  $25,000,000;  employs  now  8,000 
hands;  they  have  had  12,000;  it  will  not  be  completed  for 
three  years.  I  spent  an  evening  with  one  of  their  men — a 
young  civil  engineer,  English,  bright,  ambitious,  full  of  his 
work,  and  a  whole  encyclopedia.  He  has  been  in  the 
deserts  of  Africa  for  four  years;  takes  each  year  a  three 
months'  vacation  in  the  hottest  part.  He  is  the  type  that 
is  converting  the  world;  devoted  to  his  profession,  proud 
of  his  work,  seizing  duty  by  the  foretop  and  going  whither 
she  leads.  God  bless  the  young  Britisher! 


200  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

What  a  civilizer  and  converter  is  the  railroad!  All 
trainmen  are  Egyptians  and  Bedouins,  proud  of  themselves 
and  of  their  acquirements;  the  engineer  proud  of  his  engine 
and  of  the  control  of  it.  EGYPT  REDIVIVUS!  In 
its  embodiment  in  art,  the  sinewy  six-foot  Bedouin,  his  hand 
upon  the  engine's  throttle,  confident  and  proud  of  his  power 
—that  represents  EGYPT  REDIVIVUS!  To  the  engineer 
it  is  $50  per  month,  to  the  other  trainmen  $25  per  month, 
not  ten  cents  a  day;  that  means  modern  civilization.  It  is 
the  morning  herald  of  a  new  birth  for  Egypt. 

There  is  a  whole  bookful  to  write,  but  I  spare  you.  I 
get  more  satisfaction  out  of  the  knowledge  of  the  people  and 
productions  of  today  than  of  all  the  dry  mummies  of 
Rameses  and  Sesostris. 

We  will  soon  continue  our  journey  to  Palestine.  Here 
is  a  story  Frank  Crane  told  us  as  we  were  leaving  New 
York:  A  Jew  came  to  the  Sea  of  Galilee  and  wanted  to 
be  rowed  to  the  spot  where  Christ  walked  on  the  water. 

"Vat  ish  der  price'?  "  asked  the  Jew. 

"Ten  cents." 

"Dat  ish  all  right;  I  pays  it  now,"  and  out  came  the 
money.  He  was  taken  out  on  the  water  and  assured  that 
was  the  very  spot.  "Now  take  me  back,"  said  the  Jew. 
He  was  told  there  was  more  fare  going  back.  "How 
much?' 

"Five  dollars,  please." 

"Fife  tollar!    No  vender  he  valked!  " 

I'm  keeping  that  to  paralyze  the  tourists  on  the  shores 
of  Galilee.  We  are  having  a  fine  trip. 

With  love,      STEPH.  G.  NYE. 


(Tairo  to 

BAY  OF  BEIRUT,  SYRIA,  April  12. 
My  Dear  Kinsell : 

How  came  we  here?  Thus:  We  finished  our  Egyp- 
tian tour  Tuesday;  Wednesday  we  came  back  from  Cairo 
to  Port  Said  (not  going  to  Alexandria)  to  take  steamer  for 
Jaffa,  the  Palestine  port  for  Jerusalem.  We  shipped  at 
9  p.  M.  Wednesday,  but  Tuesday  came  a  telegram  to  Cairo 
that  a  twelve-year-old  boy  was  found  dead  at  Alexandria, 
and  the  board  of  health's  officer,  or  physician,  declared  he 
thought  it  the  black  plague,  and  the  Sultan's  (Turkey) 
government  had  declared  a  quarantine  against  all  vessels 
touching  at  Alexandria.  Ours  is  an  Austrian  steamer  (the 
Venus),  had  touched  at  Alexandria;  therefore  we  must  go 
into  quarantine  whenever  she  anchored  in  Turkish  waters. 
Jaffa  is  no  quarantine  port — has  no  quarantine  officer,  and 
hence  we  came  to  Beirut,  to  "take  our  quarantine,"  which 
we  reached  last  evening  at  5  o'clock — twenty  hours  from 
start. 

About  noon  yesterday  faint  outlines  of  the  Syrian 
coast  came  in  view;  then  Mount  Carmel  shoved  her  snow- 
capped head  out  to  the  coast;  then  the  Lebanon  range  shot 
up  in  the  rear  of  the  coast  range;  passed  the  site  of  Tyre, 
the  great  Phoenician  city,  the  Mother  of  Nations,  whose 
ships  visited  the  waters  of  all  the  then  known  seas;  whose 
merchandise  was  sought  by  kings,  and  whose  merchants 
ranked  with  princes — now  a  Syrian  village  of  say  five 


202  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

thousand;  then  Sidon,  or  Zidon,  once  a  great  city,  now 
scarcely  larger  than  Tyre. 

The  sea  trip  was  simply  perfect;  the  cool  breeze  neither 
hot  nor  cold,  but  bracing  and  invigorating.  We  slipped 
around  into  the  quiet  bay  of  Beirut,  dropped  anchor,  and 
here  we  are  for  forty-eight  hours  at  a  personal  expense  of 
about  $25  per  capita,  when  the  steamer  takes  us  back  to 
Jaffa,  where  we  shall  land  probably  Sunday  at  9  or 
10  A.  M.  Then  the  religious  part  of  the  party  will  take  in- 
terest in  visiting  the  house  of  Simon,  the  tanner,  and  the 
home  of  Dorcas,  the  dressmaker,  noted  for  good  works,  who 
has  been  out  of  business  some  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  years  or  more;  and  about  2  P.  M.  on  to  Jerusalem  by 
rail.  So  we  shall  miss  the  great  Easter  of  the  Greek  Church 
and  all  the  holy  show  and  superstitious  mummery  that 
goes  with  it.  You  see,  Easter  is  a  great  day  to  Protestants, 
Catholics,  the  Greek  Church,  but  as  well  to  Mohammedans, 
for  they  look  on  Christ  as  a  great  prophet,  not  as  a  part  of 
the  Godhead;  they  are  Simon-pure  Unitarians.  But  the 
amount  of  superstition  and  holy  sepulcher  would  fill  a  hun- 
dred volumes,  and  a  man  must  be  well  grounded  in  the 
faith  before  he  starts,  if  a  visit  to  the  Holy  Land  doesn't 
undermine  his  faith  and  send  him  back  a  determined  and 
persistent  infidel.  I  haven't  reached  the  Holy  Land  yet, 
but  I  feel  the  disintegrating  effect  of  an  approach  to  it. 

The  Oriental  mind  is  peculiar.  No  important  fact  in 
history,  whether  religious  or  political,  modern  or  remote, 
but  has  connected  with  it  an  angel,  a  revelation,  a  dream,  a 
prophecy,  or  something  supernatural.  The  Occidental 
doesn't  believe  in  dreams,  fortune-tellers,  prophecies,  or 


FROM  CAIRO  TO  BEIRUT  203 

revelations;  if  he  does,  it  is  put  down  to  ignorance  or  bad 
digestion.  The  Mormon  Bible  has  few  believers.  But 
this  digresses. 

Beirut  has  a  beautiful  bay,  is  a  picturesque  town  of 
tiled  roofs  and  three  stories  high,  terraced  up  the  hillsides 
and  apparently  surrounded  by  tree  and  vegetable  growth; 
for  there  is  a  green  tinge,  not  only  in  this  town  but  away  up 
the  hillsides. 

Last  night  was  ideal  for  sleep.  Alameda  County  at 
her  best  could  do  no  better.  At  6:30  A.  M.  we  got  notice 
that  the  quarantine  officer  would  be  aboard  to  examine  the 
ship's  health.  Instead,  two  hours  later,  after  coffee,  we 
were  taken  in  small  boats  to  quarantine  quarters — cer- 
tificates were  given  us  of  clean  health  and  a  spray  of  ten 
drops  given  each  personally  and  a  single  squirt  given  to 
a  single  piece  of  baggage  which  each  person  or  family  brings 
along.  And  this  concluded  the  official  hocus-pocus.  They 
turned  us  loose  in  a  large  yard  where  grew  wild  indigenous 
Syrian  plants  and  grasses.  They  have  the  wet  and  the  dry 
season;  about  thirty  inches  of  rainfall  in  an  average  season. 
The  hills  are  beginning  to  brown.  In  the  quarantine  yard 
were  wide-spreading  fig  trees,  bearing  figs  the  size  of  small 
plums,  with  seats  under  the  trees;  the  ground  was  brilliant 
with  the  yellow  daisy,  a  sort  of  yellow  chrysanthemum,  the 
yellow  California  mustard,  the  well-hated  wild  morning 
glory,  the  plantain,  the  wild  oats  gone  to  seed,  and  the 
filaree  or  alfileria,  luxuriant  and  abundant  (but  no  burr 
clover)  and  a  sort  of  bunch  grass.  So  that,  so  far  as  vege- 
table growths  are  concerned,  we  might  have  been  corralled 
over  the  other  side  of  the  bay  near  San  Rafael. 


204  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

This  town  is  modern  built  and  looks  from  this  distance 
very  neat  and  clean.  One  of  its  most  important  buildings 
is  the  Protestant  Syrian  College,  the  statistics  concerning 
which  I  don't  know.  But  I  met  with  some  of  the  students. 
Here  with  us,  a  fellow  passenger,  is  Mr.  B.  T.  Howraine  of 
Beirut,  one  of  their  students  in  the  past,  talking  seven 
languages  and  a  walking  encyclopedia  as  to  the  history  and 
geography  of  Syria,  Palestine,  and  all  Turkey;  most 
affable,  and  talking  English  so  it  may  be  understood.  He 
is  one  of  a  large  class  of  Syrians.  They  make  good  mer- 
chants, traders,  dragomans,  and  guides  of  traveling  parties. 

The  American  mission  schools  are  really  doing  quite 
an  educational  work.  At  Cairo  and  at  Luxor,  four  hun- 
dred miles  farther  south,  the  young  Arabs  are  very  am- 
bitious to  learn  English,  and  proud  to  announce  that  they 
belong  to  the  American  mission  school — looking  forward 
to  their  linguistic  excellence  to  earn  something  better  than 
ten  cents  a  day. 

One  evening  I  was  hunting  a  cigar  in  Cairo.  In  a 
shop  I  addressed  a  comely  young  woman,  perhaps  18.  She 
said:  "We  have  no  cigars,  but  I  can  give  you  beer" — this 
in  good  English.  I  said:  "Where  were  you  born?"  "In 
Cairo."  "How  came  you  to  speak  English  so  well*?"  "I 
learned  it  at  the  American  mission  school."  I  looked  up, 
and  on  the  wall  was  the  advertisement  of  Schlitz  Milwaukee 
beer.  Has  the  work  of  the  missionary  gone  wrong,  or  is  it 
an  argument  why  the  brewers  should  come  down  more 
liberally  to  the  missionary  fund? 

Historically,  this  spot  has  no  flies  on  it.  Sidon  and 
Tyre  are  almost  in  sight.  Along  a  canon  just  above,  and 


FROM   CAIRO  TO  BEIRUT  205 

by  the  river,  is  the  old  military  road  along  which  Sen- 
nacherib, King  of  Assyria,  marched  his  warlike  hosts. 
There  is  a  myth,  or  a  fable,  or  a  miracle  told  of  this  same 
Sennach,  how  he  sent  out  against  the  Jews  an  army  of  one 
hundred  and  eighty-five  thousand  men,  and  one  night  while 
encamped  the  gas  works  went  wrong  and  asphyxiated  the 
last  man  of  'em,  and  he  lost  the  campaign.  Later  on  two 
of  Sennach's  boys,  as  I  remember  it,  tunked  him  on  the 
head,  and  he  went  out  of  military  business  altogether.  I 
think  he  is  dead.  Twenty-five  hundred  years  or  so  later 
one  Napoleon  got  ambitious  over  the  conquest  of  Asia,  and 
he  scooped  out  another  road  along  the  same  route  over  the 
Lebanon  range  to  Damascus;  now  a  railroad  takes  its 
place. 

Once  more  I  refer  to  that  great  modern  engineering 
scheme,  the  Assouan  dam,  which,  when  completed,  puts  a 
harness  on  the  Nile  and  a  muzzle  on  its  mouth,  and  one 
man  crooks  his  finger  and  the  giant  obeys  the  bid.  It  has 
for  discharge  one  hundred  and  eighty-six  gates.  I  rode  a 
donkey  thence  in  the  early  morning.  The  young  Bedouin, 
who  whacked  his  lagging  quarters  and  twisted  his  tail, 
proudly  informed  me  his  (the  donkey's)  name  was  Major 
McKinley.  After  the  ride  I  rechristened  him  the  Dam(n) 
Assouan,  because  he  had  one  hundred  and  eighty-six  gaits. 

There  is  as  much  difference  in  the  climate  of  Lower 
and  Upper  Egypt  as  between  the  bay  of  San  Francisco  and 
the  upper  San  Joaquin  Valley — between  Cairo  and  As- 
souan as  between  Oakland  and  Visalia;  excepting  one  day, 
our  stay  in  and  around  Cairo  was  as  cool  and  delightful  as 
around  the  bay,  and  drives  were  free  from  dust  and  heat. 


206  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

Monday  last  we  visited  the  museum  of  Gizeh,  which 
contains  so  much  of  the  wealth  of  the  tombs  and  the  bodies 
mummified  of  the  old  parties  who  went  out  of  business  so 
long  ago;  the  carvings  in  wood  and  stone,  the  old  boats 
built  of  sycamore,  which  were  overwhelmed  with  sand 
from  the  envious  desert,  images,  inscriptions,  paintings, 
coins  of  gold  and  silver,  ornaments,  food  of  many  kinds, 
crowns,  etc.,  for  the  old  parties  had  a  belief  that  after  three 
thousand  years  new  life  would  come  to  them,  and  hence 
food,  money,  ornaments,  wealth,  etc.,  were  buried  with  them 
to  greet  them  when  the  long  sleep  should  end.  So  far  as 
heard  from,  the  resurrection  day  has  been  postponed;  their 
degenerate  descendants  have  made  commerce  of  their  tombs 
and  all  in  them. 

Tuesday,  by  a  drive  of  twelve  miles  over  an  elevated 
turnpike  above  the  highest  rise  of  the  Nile,  we  drove  to  the 
site  of  the  ancient  city  of  Memphis — a  two  million  town  in 
its  day — where  is  the  pyramid  of  Cheops,  eight  hundred 
and  thirty  feet  square  and  five  hundred  feet  or  so  high. 
Harriet  skipped  to  the  top  in  about  twenty  minutes ;  the  rest 
of  us  were  content  to  look  up  from  the  base. 

Modern  Cairo,  that  is,  Cairo  of  the  last  two  thousand 
years,  has  been  largely  built  from  stone  carried  from  Mem- 
phis across  the  Nile.  There  is  a  whole  lot  to  say  of  that 
tract  from  Cairo  to  the  mouth  of  the  Nile,  known  as  the 
Delta,  its  great  fertility,  etc.,  but  that  I  will  forego  for  now. 

Yours  very  truly, 

S.  G.  NYE. 


Jerusalem  of  tfye  "present 

JERUSALEM,  April  16. 
Dear  Ones  in  California : 

You  have  already  been  advised  by  the  other  members 
of  my  family  of  our  safe  arrival  in  Jaffa,  of  our  visit  to  the 
house  of  Simon  the  tanner,  and  to  the  church  to  perpetuate 
the  memory  of  Tabitha  or  Dorcas,  beloved  for  her  good 
works,  and  to  her  magnificent  tomb  of  marble,  of  the  hotel 
and  its  garden,  etc.  At  1 145  we  started  by  rail  for  Jerusa- 
lem, over  the  plains  of  Sharon  of  historic  note.  Beginning 
on  the  coast,  the  plains  extend,  say,  twenty-five  miles  before 
reaching  the  foothills  on  either  side — level  and  covered 
along  the  line  of  rail  with  citrus  orchards.  As  in  California, 
there  is  the  wet  and  the  dry  season,  and,  as  in  California, 
they  have  a  dry  year  occasionally,  and  this  is  one.  As  in 
California  they  get  more  rain  around  the  bay  than  inland, 
so  here  the  territory  around  the  Mediterranean  gets  more 
rain  than  the  interior. 

The  citrus  groves  seemed  well  tilled  and  were  cut  back 
quite  short,  but  showed  much  dead  wood  among  the 
branches.  They  irrigate  by  wells  and  buckets.  I  am  told 
some  of  the  more  enterprising  are  beginning  to  use  gasoline 
engines  and  pumps.  Orchards  continued  for  about  ten 
miles;  then  came  grain  fields,  wheat  and  barley  of  very 
good  growth,  not  so  rank  as  in  Egypt,  not  yet  in  bloom, 
but  well  headed  out.  The  lark  soared  and  sang,  as  in  Cali- 
fornia; the  swallow  skimmed  the  air,  and  the  English 


208  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

sparrow  is  everywhere.  The  plains  became  narrower  and 
the  grain  smaller.  Occasionally  land  was  being  plowed  and 
sown  to  summer  crops — two  or  three  kinds  of  beans — and 
some  of  the  land  so  plowed  will  go  fallow  until  another 
year. 

About  thirty  miles  from  the  coast  the  country  became 
rocky.  Then  the  olive  trees  prevailed,  stuck  into  every 
little  spot  that  would  furnish  a  peck  of  dirt.  All  rock  here 
is  limestone,  and  for  the  last  twenty  or  more  miles  before 
reaching  Jerusalem  it  was  simply  terraced  layers  and  blocks 
of  limestone,  looking  like  masonry  and  with  no  twists  and 
distortions  by  volcanic  forces.  The  last  part  of  the  ride 
was  much  like  a  ride  in  the  San  Joaquin  Valley  in  the  late 
spring — hot  and  dry;  but  as  the  sun  went  down  it  cooled, 
and  we  slept  a  sweet  sleep — our  first  in  Jerusalem.  Our 
hotel,  which  is  outside  the  walls,  is  kept  by  a  Mr.  Howard, 
who  was  born  in  Syria,  of  a  Syrian  mother  and  an  Irish 
father — a  man  of  dignified  appearance  and  military  bear- 
ing, of  courtly,  Oriental  manners,  who  has  made  him- 
self so  well  liked  by  titled  visitors  that  he  has  had  con- 
ferred upon  him  (I  think  by  the  French  government)  the 
title  of  Chevalier.  So  when  I  want  any  favor  or  any  spe- 
cial information,  I  address  him  as  Chevalier,  and  all  he 
knows  and  all  he  has  is  at  my  command. 

Jerusalem  is  a  city  of  60,000  people.  It  has  lime- 
stone streets,  which  crunch  up  into  palpable  and  impalpable 
dust.  Not  a  water-cart  in  the  city,  no  water  except  rain- 
water caught  in  cisterns  from  roofs  and  paved  areas  made 
on  purpose  for  catching  it.  Cisterns  are  nearly  empty.  They 
have  had  two  rains.  The  first,  according  to  custom,  was 


THE  JERUSALEM  OF  THE  PRESENT  DAY      209 

permitted  to  clean  the  roofs  and  gutters  and  go  to  waste; 
the  later  rain  did  not  amount  to  much.  The  country  around 
Jerusalem  is  hilly  and  stony,  walled  into  small  fields,  and 
the  roads  are  winding  and  steep,  so  as  to  require  brakes  on 
all  wagons. 

Down  on  the  Sharon  plains  there  are  no  houses  on  the 
farms — nothing  but  a  wide  expanse  of  grain.  The  plains 
are  divided  out  to  the  various  villages;  then  the  village 
division  is  divided  out  to  the  families  of  the  village.  The 
village  is  built  of  little  mud  or  stone  huts  holding  from  two 
to  a  dozen;  so  an  insignificant  looking  little  village  may 
be  quite  populous. 

Yesterday  we  visited  the  site  of  Solomon's  temple  in 
the  forenoon.  I'm  not  going  to  describe  it,  nor  the  great 
mosque  of  Omar,  now  on  the  site  of  the  temple,  contain- 
ing, among  other  things,  twelve  columns  of  black  marble 
which  were  in  the  original  temple  of  Solomon.  Thirteen 
times  has  Jerusalem  been  taken  and  destroyed  and  rebuilt, 
and  it  is  a  great  wonder  that  anything  remains  with  cer- 
tainty. There  are  two  or  three  things  that  can  be  relied  on. 
The  rest  is  tradition  and  superstition,  pure  and  unadulter- 
ated. The  walls  of  the  city  have  been  rebuilt  so  as  to  make 
it  look  as  of  old,  but  scholars  are  divided  as  to  where  the 
old  wall  was.  We  visited  what  are  called  the  stables  of 
Solomon,  but  now  it  is  believed  they  are  the  stables  of 
Herod,  built  something  like  800  years  after  Solomon's  time, 
and  that  Solomon's  stables  had  become  ruins,  on  top  of 
which  Herod  built  his  stables.  Religious  fervor  and  super- 
stition have  pitched  upon  every  possible  or  impossible  spot 
visited  by  our  Savior.  For  instance,  there  is  the  Church  of 


210  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

the  Holy  Sepulcher,  where  our  Savior  was  laid  after  the 
crucifixion;  on  top  of  the  Mount  of  Olives  is  shown  a  rock 
enclosed  in  a  grating  whence  He  ascended  to  Heaven;  al- 
together there  is  that  feeling  of  uncertainty  and  unsub- 
stantial ity  which  makes  it  the  most  unsatisfactory  spot  we 
have  yet  visited. 

Yet  what  boots  it  where  Christ  was  born,  or  where 
He  died,  or  where  He  was  buried?  He  taught  as  no  other 
man  taught;  He  divulged  a  philosophy  nobler  than  the 
world  had  ever  known,  and  which  for  so  many  centuries 
has  been  the  model  for  the  purest  and  best.  Isn't  that 
enough?  But  how  unbelieving  we  are!  Like  that  doubt- 
ing Apostle,  we  won't  believe  unless  we  can  lay  our  fingers 
in  the  wounded  side  and  can  see  the  nail-prints. 

There  is  a  great  area  in  the  temple  grounds  of  several 
acres,  paved  over  to  catch  rain-water,  which  goes  into  sub- 
terranean cisterns,  and  from  the  cisterns  comes  water  which 
goes  off  in  goatskins,  water  jugs,  and  pails  for  the  people. 
Without  rain,  water  will  soon  cost  more  than  bread,  and 
famine  is  sure  to  catch  man  and  beast  to  some  extent  in 
Palestine.  East  of  the  temple  grounds  is  the  Mount  of 
Olives — all  divided  up  now  and  owned  by  different  religious 
sects  and  orders,  with  a  few  scattering  olive  trees  on  its 
sides.  Between  the  temple  and  the  Mount  of  Olives  is  the 
valley  of  Jehosaphat,  and  at  the  north  end  of  that  valley 
is  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane,  and  the  very  rock  is  pointed 
out  just  outside  the  garden  where  the  disciples  lay  down 
and  went  to  sleep  while  the  Master  went  into  the  garden 
to  pray. 

This  is  a  dark  city  at  night — not  an  electric  light 


THE  JERUSALEM  OF  THE  PRESENT  DAY      211 

in  Turkey.     The  Sultan  thinks  it  is  a  device  of  the  devil. 

I  said  to  the  Chevalier,  "What  a  great  thing  if  Pales- 
tine had  coal !  " 

"We  have  plenty  of  coal." 

"Where  ?" 

"In  the  Lebanon  mountains;  the  people  use  it  for 
fuel." 

I  said,  "Why  is  it  not  developed?  " 

"Rottenness  of  the  government." 

Oh,  some  day  the  world  will  get  a  move  on  and  will 
wipe  Turkey  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  her  people 
will  awake,  and  what  has  happened  to  Egypt,  Turkey  will 
experience.  I  believe,  or  begin  to  believe,  in  shotgun  civil- 
ization. After  tomorrow  begins  our  camping  trip. 

With  love, 

STEPH.  G.  NYE. 


,  an& 

SINJIL,  PALESTINE,  April  21. 
Dear  Children: 

The  camping  trip  started  last  Thursday,  about  8  A.  M., 
from  Jerusalem.  We  went  first  to  Solomon's  pools,  seven 
miles  away,  where  there  is  a  spring  coming  out  of  the  lime- 
stone rock  and  running,  I  should  judge,  about  a  thousand 
gallons  an  hour.  In  Solomon's  time  there  was  an  aqueduct 
carrying  the  water  to  the  temple.  It  is  now  broken  up,  but 
a  pipe  carries  part  of  the  water  to  Bethlehem.  There  are 
three  storage  reservoirs,  each  one  19  feet  higher  than  the  next, 
and  together  they  have  a  storage  of  possibly  3,000,000  gal- 
lons. Very  little  water,  however,  was  in  storage.  A  car- 
riage road  runs  from  Jerusalem  to  Bethlehem. 

Next  we  came  to  Bethlehem,  and,  of  course,  we  were 
shown  the  Church  of  the  Nativity,  with  the  manger  where 
our  Lord  was  born,  and  the  spot  where  the  wise  men  came 
and  worshiped,  and  where  the  crusaders  later  on  invaded 
and  conquered,  and  Crusader  Baldwin  was  crowned  king. 
Bethlehem  seems  a  neat,  well-built  town — many  men  em- 
ployed in  cutting  limestone  into  building  stone,  using  such 
tools  as  we  use,  including  a  steel  square.  The  workmen 
looked  more  intelligent  and  the  women  better  looking  than 
I  have  seen  elsewhere.  Our  path  led  all  the  way  through 
limestone  mountains  along  the  brook  Kedron,  so  often 
spoken  of  in  the  Bible,  the  channel  of  which  runs  hundreds 
of  feet  below  and  finally  empties  into  the  Dead  Sea.  From 


BETHLEHEM,  THE  JORDAN,  AND  JERICHO      213 

Jerusalem  to  Bethlehem  were  many  olive  trees  on  the  moun- 
tainsides; thence  on  growing  less,  until  people  and  trees 
disappeared. 

About  an  hour  beyond  Bethlehem  we  had  our  first 
lunch.  Although  we  had  all  ridden  donkeys  in  Egypt  and 
considered  ourselves  somewhat  saddle-wise,  and  although 
we  walked  every  step,  we  were  all  saddle-stiff  and  sore  and 
glad  to  dismount.  We  had  water  brought  from  Jerusalem, 
cold  meats,  chicken,  bread,  oranges,  nuts,  etc.,  under  a  tent 
spread  with  rugs.  After  lunch  we  were  quite  restored.  It 
was  the  identical  spot  where  were  the  shepherds  to  whom  the 
angels  appeared.  Oh,  they  have  everything  fixed  to  a  dead- 
sure  thing — don't  forget! 

About  two  miles  before  we  struck  camp  came  a  mon- 
astery and  water.  I  dismounted  so  stiff  and  sore,  absolutely 
I  could  not  stand.  Some  miles  back  a  vicious  horse  had 
given  me  a  severe  kick  below  the  knee.  I  sort  of  staggered 
up  against  a  wall,  when  Reverend  Sexton  of  Texas  rode  up. 
Said  he,  "Why,  Judge,  you  look  nearly  perished." 

I  told  him  if  any  one  would  ask  it,  I  would  die  on  a 
minute's  notice. 

"Look  yer,  judge,  I  think  this  will  help  you,"  and  he 
drew  forth  a  flask  of  cognac. 

I  took  a  pull,  and  in  five  minutes  I  had  been  born 
again.  Oh,  the  spiritual  consolation  that  good  Samaritan 
administered!  It  was  life  indeed. 

Here  we  watered  our  stock,  for  they  would  get  no 
more  that  day.  We  rode  two  miles  farther  on,  to  find  our 
tents  all  up,  eleven  in  all,  and  hot  tea  ready  and  spread 
outdoors  on  the  camp  chests.  They  pulled  me  off  my  horse 


214  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

like  a  clothes-pin,  and  like  a  clothes-pin  set  me  down.  I 
crawled  to  our  tent  and  stretched  out  on  my  bed,  and  had 
my  tea  brought  to  me.  It  revived  me  so  that  a  half  hour 
later  I  took  hold  of  a  table  d'hote  dinner,  oh,  so  hungrily! 

I  may  as  well  tell  of  the  camping  outfit.  Twenty-one 
pilgrims,  thirty-two  camp  attendants,  and  sixty-eight  horses, 
donkeys,  and  mules  made  up  the  living  outfit.  Tents,  all 
were  alike,  octagon,  twelve  feet  in  diameter,  six-foot 
walls  lined  with  Turkish  applique  work  in  gay  colors,  two 
single  iron  bedsteads  with  spring  mattresses,  white  pillows, 
sheets,  and  covers,  rugs,  camp  stools,  table,  metal  wash 
bowls,  and  pitchers,  a  center  pole  carrying  the  tent  up  to 
twenty-five  feet,  surmounted  by  an  American  flag.  There 
is,  also  a  very  large  dining  tent. 

At  Bethlehem  we  struck  the  territory  of  an  Arab  sheik, 
through  which  we  could  pass  only  by  his  permission.  Gaze 
paid  him  forty  francs  and  he,  as  escort,  led  us  for  two  days 
through  his  domains.  He  wore  the  Turkish  bloomer 
breeches,  military  boots,  the  curved  Turkish  sword,  a  fancy 
turban,  and  his  horse  was  a  beauty — a  chestnut  stallion, 
hide  like  satin,  two  white  hind  feet,  weighed  about  a  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  how  well  horse  and  master  understood 
each  other!  In  camp  the  sheik  hobbled  his  fore  feet,  and 
to  that  fastened  one  hind  foot,  and  then  the  horse's  watch- 
ful eyes  were  on  the  master  wherever  he  moved.  About 
three  hours  out  a  fox  crossed  the  road,  and  the  Arab  took 
after  him,  also  a  couple  of  the  company,  but  the  fox  was 
too  much;  he  got  away.  Then  the  Arab  gave  us  twenty 
minutes  of  horse-show  which  was  superb  and  for  which  he 
begged  baksheesh  at  the  end  of  the  second  day,  when  we 


BETHLEHEM,  THE  JORDAN,  AND  JERICHO      215 

reached  the  border  of  his  domains.  We  slept  that  first  night 
forty  pounds  to  the  square  inch.  Started  next  morn  at  five, 
still  over  limestone  mountains  until  we  had  descended  4,000 
feet  from  Jerusalem  to  the  Dead  Sea. 

In  a  halt  of  forty-five  minutes  many  of  us  took  a  swim. 
No  water  was  ever  more  salt  or  bitter,  but  one  can  not  sink 
in  it.  The  river  Jordan  empties  there.  We  went  about  five 
miles  farther  and  lunched  right  on  the  river  bank.  It  is 
turbid,  red  from  the  red  soil,  and  nearly  bank  full.  It  was 
a  good  deep  stream,  perhaps  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
wide.  After  lunch  we  rode  straight  for  the  mountains 
west,  at  the  foot  of  which  is  Jericho,  a  modern  village. 
South  of  that  is  the  Roman  Jericho,  and  still  farther  south 
the  old  Jericho  that  Joshua  took  by  that  remarkable  mili- 
tary expedition  with  ram's  horns,  which  has  no  parallel  in 
military  history.  The  Roman  Jericho  is  the  one  to  which 
our  Savior's  parable  about  the  good  Samaritan  refers.  We 
camped  close  to  Elisha's  fountain,  into  which  it  is  recorded 
he  cast  salt  to  heal  it  of  its  bitterness.  It  was  fine. 

The  next  morning  we  saw  the  spring  rushing  out  from 
the  limestone  like  a  river.  It  turns  a  mill  and  irrigates  a 
whole  lot  of  cucumbers  and  fruit  trees  toward  and  at  new 
Jericho.  We  passed  Gilgal,  where  Joshua  set  up  twelve 
stones  after  crossing  the  Jordan.  Nothing  there  now  but 
one  tree  and  a  scanty  sheep  and  cattle  pasture  in  the  midst 
of  a  barren  plain.  Next  day,  Saturday,  we  had  thirty  miles 
to  make  over  the  worst  trails  I  ever  saw.  The  road  was  full 
of  loose  cobblestones.  The  camp  train  took  a  short  cut 
(everything  is  packed  on  muleback).  One  mule  fell  and 
rolled  over  and  over  down  a  precipice.  It  was  said  he  broke 


216  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

a  leg,  but  they  made  him  come  into  camp — now  they  say 
he  dislocated  a  hip. 

At  noon  we  lunched  at  Bethel — a  village  of  mud  huts 
with  flat  roofs,  a  single  door,  no  windows — like  all  the  other 
little  towns,  with  almost  nothing  inside,  as  they  cook  and 
live  in  the  open,  the  houses  being  only  as  a  protection  from 
rain  and  perhaps  to  sleep  in.  The  people  are  not  handsome, 
and  all  know  the  art  of  begging.  We  reached  camp  on  a 
mountaintop,  the  blue  Mediterranean  in  sight  and  Mount 
Hermon,  and  such  a  restful  day  for  a  Sabbath's  rest! 

PAPA  NYE. 


JFbuntains  o 


ON  BOARD  THE  RUSSIAN  STEAMER  NAKHINOFF, 

OFF  THE  COAST  OF  ASIA  MINOR,  May  7. 
Mr.  W.  F.  Boardman: 

You  were  kind  enough  to  explain  to  me  to  some  extent 
your  ideas  concerning  the  origin  of  waters  obtained  by  bor- 
ing into  hillsides  near  Berkeley  and  Piedmont  and  like 
places.  On  the  third  of  May  we  completed  a  fifteen  days' 
horseback  trip  from  Jerusalem  down  to  the  Dead  Sea, 
thence  up  the  Jordan  a  little  way,  thence  to  Jericho;  then 
over  the  mountain  ranges  to  Dan,  to  Banias,  to  Mt.  Her- 
mon,  to  Damascus,  to  the  Lebanon  range,  to  Beirut  on  the 
Mediterranean.  Jaffa  is  the  seaport  of  Jerusalem,  about 
forty  or  fifty  miles  away,  as  the  crow  flies,  and  farther  by 
rail. 

A  broad  valley  lies  along  the  Mediterranean,  with  rich 
red  volcanic  soil,  underlaid  with  limestone  —  an  orange 
country  near  the  coast,  with  wheat,  barley,  and  olives  far- 
ther back.  Thus  it  is  for  ten  or  fifteen  miles;  then  come 
limestone  hills  and  mountains,  and  these  prevail  all  over 
Palestine.  It  is  the  most  hopeless,  barren,  God-forsaken 
^country  you  ever  saw,  where  human  beings  ever  attempted 
to  live.  Jerusalem  is  on  high  ground  —  not  high  enough  to 
retain  snow  late  in  the  season  —  but  the  Mount  of  Olives  is 
visible  over  a  large  area.  Springs  are  scarce,  and  water  is  at 
a  premium,  but  farther  on  we  come  to  snow-capped  ranges. 
After  reaching  sight  of  Hermon  we  come  to  fountains.  On 


218  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

the  site  of  old  Bethsaida,  on  the  shore  of  Galilee,  is  a  foun- 
tain springing  up  out  of  solid  limestone  rock.  It  is  warm 
water  and  flows,  say,  75,000  gallons  an  hour.  It  runs  a 
mill.  Farther  south  and  inland  is  Elisha's  Fountain,  with  a 
capacity  of  15,000  gallons  an  hour.  Then  up  at  Dan  are 
two  immense  fountains,  ice  cold,  running,  say,  75,000  gal- 
lons a  minute.  They  are  one  of  the  sources  of  the  Jordan. 

Farther  on,  at  Banias,  is  another  fountain  equally 
large,  another  source  of  the  Jordan.  Over  on  the  other  side 
of  Hermon  is  another  fountain,  which  is  the  source  and  sup- 
ply of  the  Pharpar  River.  Then  at  the  foot,  or  near  the 
foot,  of  the  Anti-Lebanon  Range  is  another  fountain,  prob- 
ably the  largest  in  the  world,  the  source  and  supply  of  the 
Abana  River,  which  supplies  the  city  of  Damascus  and  irri- 
gates 150  square  miles,  with  500  canals  and  canalettes,  and 
carries  water  to  more  than  30,000  gardens,  making  an  oasis 
surrounded  by  desert. 

The  origin  of  these  fountains  is  unmistakable.  Remem- 
ber, this  is  a  limestone  country.  The  seams  between  rocks 
become  wider  from  age  to  age  than  in  a  granite  country. 
It  would  result  that  water  from  melting  snow  would  be 
absorbed  by  these  interstices  in  the  rocks  at  once,  and  there 
would  be  no  cascades  down  the  mountainsides.  And  such 
is  the  fact. 

There  is  a  whole  bookful  more  to  be  said,  but  I  will 
save  it  till  I  see  you.  I  met  a  missionary  at  Beirut  by  name 
of  Hoskins.  He  gets  a  little  village  of  these  poor,  poor 
people  out  in  the  dry  plains  without  water  and  without 
crops,  unconscious  of  a  soul  or  of  a  God.  He  goes  to  them 
with  a  Pittsburg  well-boring  plant  in  his  right  hand  and  the 


THE   FOUNTAINS   OF   PALESTINE  219 

gospel  in  his  left,  and  the  work  of  regeneration  begins.  In  a 
twenty  minutes'  talk  with  him  I  got  a  whole  lot  of  facts. 
We  formed  an  immediate  friendly  compact.  He  sustains 
your  theory.  Boardman,  he's  great.  I  believe  in  that  mis- 
sionary with  all  my  heart.  More  when  I  see  you. 

Yours  truly, 

STEPHEN  G.  NYE. 


Stature  Studies  in  tt)e  Iffol?   Can6 

My  Dear  Kinsell:  ATHENS,  GREECE,  May  12. 

So  much  to  be  said  in  so  little  space.  Our  camping 
trip  ended  May  3d  at  Beirut,  where  we  shipped  ostensibly 
for  Constantinople,  on  a  Russian  steamer. 

The  camping  trip  was  a  success  in  a  way.  For  18  to  30 
miles  a  day  on  horseback  seems  easy.  We  who  never  rode, 
or,  if  ever,  quit  it  twenty  years  ago,  found  it  hard.  Al- 
though in  Jerusalem  and  Egypt  we  practiced  the  donkey 
rides,  we  found  horseback  rides  twisted  and  pulled  and 
wrenched  and  crucified  an  entirely  new  set  of  muscles,  and 
the  second  day  brought  still  other  sources  of  torture;  and 
the  third  day  repeated  all  the  tortures  of  the  first  two  days 
and  brought  out  some  new  ones,  till  then  unheard  of.  Then 
came  Sunday,  and  wasn't  it  welcome? 

To  me  it  has  been  a  source  of  great  interest  to  study 
the  resemblances  and  differences  between  climate  and  plant 
life  in  California  on  the  one  hand,  and  Palestine  and  Syria 
on  the  other. 

One  kindred  spirit  is  with  us,  a  Los  Angeles  man — 
Deacon  Cockins  by  name.  All  the  rest  are  idol  worshipers 
— men  who  expect  to  be  inspired  and  enthused  and  thrilled 
for  the  balance  of  a  lifetime  because  they  have  stood  in  the 
Temple  of  Jerusalem  where  Jesus  is  supposed  to  have  stood ; 
because  they  have  touched  the  supposed  limestone  slab 
where  He  was  anointed  for  His  burial;  because  they  have 
gone  out  the  supposed  gate  where  He  bore  His  cross  for  the 


NATURE  STUDIES  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND        221 

crucifixion;  by  visiting  the  supposed  spots  in  Bethlehem 
where  He  was  born,  and  Nazareth  where  He  was  raised, 
and  the  supposed  Jacob's  well  where  He  met  the  many- 
times  married  woman  of  Samaria;  to  tread  the  road  toward 
Damascus  where  Saul  met  that  wonderful  conversion;  to 
stand  in  Tarsus  where  he  was  raised;  to  stand  in  the  Tem- 
ple of  Diana  at  Ephesus,  near  which  was  Paul's  church  at 
Ephesus;  to  stand  on  Mars  Hill  where  Paul  was  arraigned 
and  made  his  defense  before  the  Areopagus. 

Now,  it  seems  to  me,  all  our  Savior  left  was  that 
matchless  gospel,  wherein  he  spoke  as  never  man  spoke ;  and 
we  know  St.  Paul  as  the  earnest,  conscientious,  logical,  in- 
corruptible disciple  who  spoke  what  he  believed  and  believed 
what  he  knew.  The  New  Testament  contains  that ;  all  this 
other  is  idolatry.  We  work,  you  see,  along  different  lines — 
the  birds,  the  trees,  the  insects,  the  plants,  the  grasses — these 
have  a  living,  I  may  say  a  thrilling,  interest  for  me. 

A  sort  of  leader  and  lecturer  to  our  party  is  Rev. 

Dr. ,  who  visited  the  Orient  two  years  ago.  He  is  the 

author  of  a  course  of  lectures  on  Palestine  and  Syria,  and 
has  a  large  volume  of  engravings  made  from  snapshots  of 
his  own,  and  is  now  seeking  green  fields  and  pastures  new 

for  his  commercial  enterprise.  Dr. is  a  fine  man,  is  an 

authority  on  sacred  spots  and  ruins  and  the  plan  of  salva- 
tion, but  he  literally  doesn't  know  beans.  The  markets  of 
Jerusalem,  of  Bethlehem,  of  all  the  towns  that  have  a 
market,  are  full  of  the  green  pods  of  the  Portuguese  horse 
bean.  The  doctor  didn't  know  what  it  was  nor  its  use. 
Didn't  know  lentils.  I  doubt  if  he  knows  a  cabbage  from 
an  artichoke. 


222  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

Away  up  at  the  head  of  the  Abana  River,  at  the  largest 
fountain  in  the  world,  at  the  foot  of  the  Anti-Lebanon 
Range,  we  lunched  one  day.  I  found  a  new  plant,  a  clover 
I  had  never  before  seen.  I  laid  it  down  before  the  doctor. 
He  said,  "What's  that?  "  I  said,  "Don't  you  see?  "  He 
said,  "I  see  it's  a  plant — but  what  of  that?  "  I  said,  "A 
new  kind  of  clover,  I  have  never  seen  before."  "How  do 
you  know  it's  clover?"  And  then  I  explained  how  he 
could  tell  the  clover  family. 

One  day,  before  lunch  time,  the  last  before  we  reached 
the  ruins  of  Baalbec,  we  encamped  under  an  enormous  Eng- 
lish walnut,  24  feet  10  inches  in  circumference,  four  feet 
from  the  ground.  When  we  all  got  seated,  the  doctor  said 
to  me:  "Judge,  this  is  the  largest  fig  tree  I  ever  saw."  I 
said,  "Oh,  Doctor,  you'll  never  do  to  send  to  market.  You 
wouldn't  know  figs  from  walnuts.  This  is  an  English  wal- 
nut tree."  Then  I  explained  how  he  could  distinguish  them. 

On  our  steamer  route  up  the  coast  of  Asia  Minor,  we 
called  at  Messina,  the  nearest  point  to  Tarsus,  the  birthplace 
of  Paul,  forty-eight  miles  away.  By  getting  enough  people 
to  go,  we  could  charter  a  car  and  bring  the  cost  within  in- 
dividual reach.  Dr. asked  in  quite  a  diplomatic  way, 

"Judge,-  do-you-thmk-you-have-sufficient-interest-in-Tarsus- 
to-be-one-of-15-to-charter-a-car? "  I  said,  "Yes,  by  all 
means."  I  wanted  to  be  satisfied  by  actual  sight  what  kind 
of  green  apples  Paul  stole  when  a  boy,  and  what  kind  of 
grass  and  thistles  he  fed  his  donkey.  So  you  see  the  motives 
for  such  a  trip  were  various.  A  rainstorm,  however,  stopped 
the  Tarsus  trip. 

Climate  and  plants  are  much  alike  in  Palestine  and 


NATURE  STUDIES  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND        223 

California.  All  through  are  wild  mustard,  the  mallows,  the 
filaree,  and  a  kind  of  mountain  bunch  grass,  the  white  clover, 
the  sweet  clover,  and  two  or  three  other  kinds  of  clover.  I 
hunted  for  the  burr  clover.  The  first  time  I  found  it,  was 
beside  the  filaree  on  the  site  of  the  ruins  of  the  Temple  of 
Diana  at  Ephesus.  Yesterday,  here  in  Athens,  at  the  Acrop- 
olis, in  front  of  the  temple  of  Wingless  Victory,  I  plucked 
a  vigorous  bunch  of  burr  clover,  and  in  the  ruins  of  the  Par- 
thenon, a  big  head  of  wild  oats.  Wild  oats  prevail  all  over 
Palestine  and  Syria,  so  the  mourning  dove,  an  occasional 
lark,  an  occasional  sparrow,  the  hawk,  the  vulture,  the  stork, 
the  lady-bug,  the  grasshopper,  and  the  English  sparrow 
wherever  is  the  aggregated  habitation  of  man. 

At  Smyrna  came  the  news  that  Constantinople  was 
under  quarantine,  which  would  detain  us  on  board  ship  for 
two  days  going  in  and  ten  days  coming  out,  so  Constan- 
tinople is  cut  out  and  at  Smyrna  we  reshipped  direct  to 
Pirseus,  the  port  of  Athens,  where  we  landed  at  2  p.  M., 
Friday.  Athens  is  a  beautiful,  clean,  modern  city,  in  the 
midst  of  marble  quarries  and  built  largely  of  marble  fronts. 
What  we  have  seen  is  very  satisfactory. 

Yours  truly, 

STEPH.  G.  NYE. 


Oriental 

ATHENS,  GREECE,  May  14. 
Dear  Daughter  Myrtle : 

By  the  Grecian  reckoning  this  is  May  Day,  and  today 
will  be  like  May  Day  in  California — given  over  to  trips  in 
the  country  and  flowers  and  the  like.  On  May  Day  the 
Greek  hangs  out  on  his  front  balcony  a  fresh  wreath  of 
flowers,  and  there  it  remains,  dry,  brown  and  withered,  until 
next  May  Day.  Athens,  modern,  is  a  beautiful  city — clean, 
with  loo-foot  avenues  and  25-foot  sidewalks;  other  streets 
narrower,  so  many  marble  buildings  (the  mountains  here 
are  marble) ;  Mama  has  gone  wild  on  having  a  marble 
house  with  marble  stairways  and  marble  floors.  On  busi- 
ness streets  the  fronts  are  used  for  business,  but  away  back 
and  upstairs  are  homes;  and  now  and  then  an  open  door 
or  gateway  reveals  a  narrow  passage,  and  far  back  an  open 
court,  marble-tiled,  with  orange  trees  and  bright  flowers 
surrounding  it,  with  a  fountain  in  the  center,  and  facing  on 
the  court;  all  around  are  the  rooms  that  make  the  homes.  It 
is  very  enticing. 

A  favorite  shade  tree  in  Athens  is  the  pepper  tree. 
Little  excavations  around  each  tree  show  they  must  be 
watered  all  summer,  for  climate  is  much  like  California. 
The  air  is  clear,  cool,  and  invigorating,  right  from  the 
^Egean  Sea.  Every  evening  an  excellent  band  plays  for 
an  hour  on  the  public  square  in  front  of  our  hotel.  The 
square  is  without  grass  or  trees.  Folding  chairs  and  little 


THE  ORIENTAL  RUG  TRADE  225 

tables  are  stacked  at  the  edge  of  it  during  the  day.  When 
music  begins  these  are  set  out  and  occupied  by  the  populace 
and  coffee,  cakes,  and  drinks  are  furnished  from  across  the 
streets  to  the  hungry  and  thirsty.  The  kind  of  drinks  I  do 
not  know.  I  have  not  seen  a  drunken  person  since  leaving 
Naples,  and  certainly  not  a  man  I  have  seen  gives  evidence 
of  being  addicted  to  hard  drinks  here  in  Athens. 

Yesterday  I  spent  the  afternoon  in  visiting  a  carpet 
store;  I  found  it  as  absorbing  in  interest  as  the  Parthenon 
and  Mars  Hill.  Let  me  tell  you  about  it.  A  house  here 
advertises  The  American  Rug  Company.  I  was  in  search 
of  some  one  to  tell  me  of  the  resources  of  modern  Athens. 
I  found  there  a  very  bright  American  who  had  traded  in 
Philadelphia,  San  Diego,  and  in  Texas  in  carpets  and  rugs 
— an  expert.  His  physician  had  advised  the  climate  of 
Athens  to  restore  him  from  nervous  prostration.  He  had 
a  store  half  full  of  Persian  and  Turkish  rugs,  which  are  in 
fact  second-hand  carpets.  His  stock  is  reduced,  but  many 
thousand  dollars'  worth  remain.  They  are  from  fifteen  to 
over  one  hundred  years  old,  worth  from  $65  to  $600. 

These  rugs  are  procured  from  rich  Oriental  families 
all  through  Asia  Minor,  Syria,  Bagdad,  Afghanistan  and 
Beloochistan.  He  shuts  up  his  store  in  about  two  weeks 
from  now,  and  with  an  interpreter,  some  mules  and  a 
dragoman,  begins  the  annual  quest  for  old  rugs — the  older 
the  more  valuable.  The  Oriental,  he  says,  will  sell  any- 
thing he  has,  even  his  wife.  These  rugs  are  hand-made, 
from  the  finest  wool,  by  the  servants  of  some  old  sheik,  chief 
or  merchant,  with  yarns  dyed  so  they  never  fade  or  run — a 
rug  frequently  taking  years  to  build,  and  never  trodden  on 


226  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

save  by  bare  feet,  and  after  years  of  use  they  take  on  a  luster 
or  sheen  like  silk.  And  that  is  the  Persian  rug. 

Oriental  houses  are  built  with  long,  narrow  rooms; 
rugs  cover  the  middle  floor-way  from  6  to  8  feet  wide  to 
16  feet  long  or  less.  Then  around  the  room  is  built  a 
wide  seat  or  bench  covered  with  these  rugs  with  hard,  round 
pillows.  These  benches  serve  for  seats  and  lounging  by 
day  and  beds  by  night.  As  use  and  years  go  on,  the  tread 
of  naked  feet  gives  a  luster  that  adds  a  value.  The 
"ancient  rug"  is  a  fad  among  rich  people,  but  I  confess  to 
its  beauty.  Soon  after  I  called  came  an  intending  pur- 
chaser— a  man  and  his  wife  from  Michigan,  apparently 
with  plenty  of  tin,  and  I  saw  pulled  down,  open  and  ex- 
plained, say  200  rugs,  and  it  beat  a  lecture  on  Grecian  ruins. 
Mama  is  going  to  see  them  today  some  time — shall  we 
come  home  broke? 

Smyrna  and  Constantinople  are  great  centers  of  the 
rug  industry.  Wealthy  merchants  furnish  looms  and  wool ; 
they  are  scattered  all  through  the  country;  skilled  labor 
costs  five  or  six  cents  a  day.  Some  of  these  rugs  are  more, 
some  less,  valuable.  Some  old  rugs  are  put  in.  They  are 
sold  in  bales.  No  wholesaler  is  allowed  to  pick  out  from 
the  bale;  he  may  examine  it,  but  he  must  take  the 
whole  or  nothing.  He  takes  a  bale,  say  to  America,  picks 
out  the  really  valuable  ones,  puts  on  a  big  price,  and  sends 
the  rest,  the  cheap  ones,  to  the  auction  room  and  lets  them 
bring  what  they  will.  Many  of  these  old  ones  have  been 
in  use  in  monasteries,  mosques,  and  churches;  if  they  have 
spots  of  candle  grease — which  the  dealer  frankly  points 
out — the  purchaser  looks  on  it  as  the  brand  of  genuineness. 


THE  ORIENTAL  RUG  TRADE  227 

Today  is  the  last  in  Athens.  Tomorrow  we  spend  in 
Corinth,  where  are  ruins,  and  the  church  to  whom  was 
addressed  Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians;  towards  night 
we  drive  to  Patros,  there  ship  at  night  for  Brindisi,  thence 
by  rail  to  Rome. 

I  find  trouble  to  get  at  what  I  want  to  know,  the  re- 
sources of  a  city  or  country,  wages,  government,  etc.  When 
I  can  find  an  American  consul,  he  knows  it  all,  but  at  present 
he  is  out  of  town ;  so  also  are  the  king,  queen  and  American 
minister.  I  can  find  out  all  about  ruins,  because  by  their 
ruins  they  ruin  the  tourists. 

Will  this  trip  pay"?  That  depends.  If  we  get  his- 
tories and  books  of  travel,  and  Baedeker,  and  maps,  and  sit 
down  to  persistent  study  for  the  next  two  years,  and  write 
out  the  results,  then  the  trip  and  what  we  saw  and  learned 
will  remain.  Otherwise,  like  a  dream  it  will  soon  fade, 
and  all  that  will  be  left  will  be  the  empty  egotism  of  say- 
ing, "Yes,  in  1901  we  were  abroad" — nothing  more. 
Egypt  begins  to  fade,  although  on  it  I  kept  tab  and  wrote 
letters  concerning  it.  Palestine  is  brighter;  that  horseback 
ride  pounded  it  into  me,  I  think  to  stay.  Mark  Twain's 
"Innocents  Abroad"  still  remains,  for  intelligent  criticism, 
the  standard  of  all  books  of  travel  I  have  ever  seen,  over  the 
same  ground. 

Paternally  and  lovingly, 

STEPH.  G.  NYE. 


in  J^lorence 

FLORENCE,  ITALY,  May  28. 
Dear  Daughter: 

God  is  good.  But  what  a  beautiful  morning  He  gave 
us  for  the  last  day  in  Rome!  I  got  out  to  the  Piazza  di 
Spagna  and  climbed  the  long  Scala  to  the  Pincian  Hill,  a 
high-toned,  fashionable  residence  quarter — wide,  tree-lined 
streets  with  frequent  fountains — and  there  wandered  and 
rested,  and  did  it  over  and  over  again,  and  watched  the 
handsome  women  giving  their  dogs  a  constitutional,  and 
the  numerous  baby  buggies  and  the  beautiful  babies,  and 
the  pretty  nurse-maids,  and  the  well-dressed  men  and  their 
well-dressed  boys  going  down-town  to  the  business  of  the 
city,  and  over  and  around  all,  the  soft,  sweet  air,  the  clear 
sunshine,  and  the  grateful  shade.  I  thought  I  was  get- 
ting as  much  out  of  that  as  if  it  had  been  an  art  gallery. 

I  wandered  back  and  met  Mama.  She  had  been  over 
to  the  Coliseum.  I  had  said  I  should  leave  Rome  as 
ignorant  of  the  Coliseum  as  if  I  had  never  seen  it.  She, 
alone,  Baedeker  in  hand,  had  been  on  the  spot  and  studied 
it  all  out,  and  she  was  after  me  to  go,  too.  We  took  a 
landau  (for  20  cents)  and  in  one  and  a  half  hours,  with  her 
help,  I  got  the  whole  design  so  I  couldn't  forget  it  if  I 
should  try.  So  after  lunch,  we  left  Rome,  reasonably  well 
satisfied;  but  still  thinking  how  busy  I  could  be  if  I  stayed 
a  year. 

We  were  pointing  for  Florence,  200  miles  away,  which 


THREE  DAYS   IN   FLORENCE  229 

we  reached  at  9  A.  M.,  and  such  a  delicious  ride!  It  had 
rained  hard  the  night  before,  so  dust  was  not.  We  fol- 
lowed the  Tiber,  yellow  and  muddy  as  the  Missouri,  across 
and  clear  away  up  nearly  a  hundred  miles,  until  we  struck 
the  Arno,  and  followed  that  all  the  way  to  Florence, 
through  which  it  flows.  The  country  was  level  to  start 
with,  later  on  stretching  out  beyond  the  river  flats  into  rol- 
ling ground,  the  valleys  covered  with  promising  crops  of 
wheat,  rye,  sugar-beets,  and  other  vegetables,  and  olive 
orchards  and  vineyards  stretching  up  the  hills  in  great 
numbers.  Another  feature  was  a  tree  and  a  grapevine  set 
next  to  it — the  trees  about  20  feet  apart — the  head  of  the 
tree  cut  back  severely  and  a  wire  run  from  tree  to  tree 
along  which  the  grapevine,  after  climbing  the  tree,  is 
trained.  This  method  of  training  the  vine  is  old.  I  am 
told  that  on  a  mural  painting  exhumed  at  Pompeii  is  repre- 
sented a  row  of  grapevines  supported  by  trees  as  now.  Oh, 
the  world  is  not  so  very  large  or  so  very  old. 

The  hills  are  all  well  wooded.  All  the  way  along 
were  little  towns  of  3,000  to  15,000  people,  and  each  one 
was  the  birth-  or  burial-place  of  some  distinguished  Italian 
author,  scholar,  singer,  violinist,  painter,  or  sculptor.  Then 
we  rode  along  the  border  of  Trasimenus  Lake,  which  has 
a  historical  interest.  Near  this  lake  is  where  Hannibal 
in  the  month  of  June,  217  B.  C.,  everlastingly  thrashed 
the  Roman  army  and  slaughtered  about  15,000  men,  and 
one  of  the  brooks  running  into  it  ran  blood,  so  that  ever 
since  it  has  been  known  as  the  Sanguinetto.  Hannibal 
was  a  Carthagenian  general,  who  landed  in  Spain  with  a 
large  army,  carried  everything  before  him,  crossed  the  Alps 


230  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

and  came  over  into  Italy  and  frightened  the  liver  out  of 
Rome.  C.  Flaminius  led  the  Romans  at  this  battle  by  the 
lake.  There  was  a  fog  that  morning  and  Flaminius  got 
into  a  hole,  and  when  the  fog  lifted,  his  forces  were  sur- 
rounded by  the  enemy;  so  he  lost  his  army  and  his  own 
life.  Well,  there  is  a  sequel  to  that  battle,  but  that  is 
another  story.  We  reached  Florence  late  last  night.  This 
morning  we  go  to  the  Pitti  Palace,  so  when  we  come  back, 
what  we  don't  know  about  art  will  be  worth  knowing 
certainly. 

May  29 — Let  me  continue.  Yesterday  morn  we 
visited  the  Pitti  Palace.  About  1460,  some  time,  a  man 
named  Luca  Pitti  went  into  politics  against  the  Medici  and 
started  in  to  build  a  palace  475  feet  long  and  broad  in 
proportion,  with  a  wide  court  in  the  center.  Most  of  it  is 
two  stories,  part  three,  built  of  undressed  stone,  which 
gives  it  a  grand,  massive  look.  Before  it  was  finished, 
politics  went  back  on  Luca,  and  he  failed,  then  died,  and 
the  palace  remained  unfinished  for  a  hundred  years,  when 
a  great  grandson  married  a  rich  woman  and  they  completed 
it  according  to  the  original  design.  For  about  350  years 
it  has  been  the  kings'  residence,  and  is  now  the  residence 
of  the  King  of  Italy  whenever  he  comes  down  to  Florence 
to  rusticate. 

One  side  is  devoted  to  an  art  gallery,  and  for  twenty 
cents  one  is  admitted  to  see  a  magnificent  collection  of 
paintings.  I  will  not  attempt  a  description.  Then  we 
were  shown  through  the  palace,  all  spick  and  span,  ready 
for  the  king  to  enter.  We  saw  the  king's  bedroom,  the 
queen's  reception-room,  the  writing-room,  the  private 


OFTHE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THREE  DAYS   IN   FLORENCE  231 

dining-room,  the  state  dining-room,  which  seats  250  guests, 
the  china  closet  and  all  the  equipage  of  royalty.  Your 
mother  took  great  interest  in  this,  although  we  have  no 
ambition  to  go  into  the  royalty  business. 

Then  in  the  afternoon  we  had  a  long  ride  around  a 
graded  turnpike  away  to  the  summit,  to  which  runs  an 
electric  road  to  quite  a  suburb,  Fiesole,  and  whence  the  city 
below  and  all  the  country  could  be  seen — a  beautiful  pano- 
rama. After  that  we  were  driven  around  the  Cascine 
Park.  Cascine  means  cow-pasture,  and  such  it  was  until 
the  city  bought  it  and  made  a  beautiful  park  of  it,  with  a 
broad  driving  avenue  around  it  (say  five  miles),  outside 
that  a  horseback  track,  then  a  bicycle  track  and  beyond  a 
wide  walk  for  pedestrians,  and  all  shaded  by  grand  old 
trees  and  inside  the  park  a  profusion  of  walks  and  stone 
seats  (can't  whittle  them)  and  bright  flowers  and  many 
fountains.  From  5  to  7  p.  M.  the  "four  hundred"  with 
grand  equipages,  coachmen,  and  footmen  in  livery,  turn 
out  for  an  airing,  including  madam's  poodle.  The  finest 
carriage  horses  I  ever  saw,  many  imported.  A  good  pair 
of  carriage  horses  costs  from  $1,200  to  $1,500.  Every- 
body may  drive.  Our  landau  was  numbered  on  the  back 
317,  and  that  gave  us  away — not  of  the  "400." 

Morning  of  the  30 th. — Yesterday  we  visited  the 
Uffizi  Palace,  built  for  the  government  in  1560,  and  now 
owned  by  it  and  used  in  part  as  a  town  hall  and  the  balance 
for  an  art  gallery.  Out  in  the  public  street  is  a  memorial 
bronze  tablet  in  the  pavement  to  commemorate  the  spot 
where  they  burned  Savonarola,  about  1498,  I  think — the 
greatest  and  bravest  man  Florence  ever  produced.  They 


232  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

forgot  to  give  him  a  monument  until  1882,  when  they  put 
his  statue  in  the  town  hall.  In  those  days  they  had  a 
pleasant  way  of  roasting  one  whose  belief  was  not  con- 
sidered orthodox — now  they  roast  him  in  the  newspapers. 

Among  the  significant  things  in  the  gallery  were  some 
unfinished  statues  begun  by  Michael  Angelo  for  the  Medici. 
The  fact  was,  Angelo  favored  the  Florentine  republic  as 
against  the  autocratic  government  of  the  Medici.  The 
Medici  knew  his  sentiments,  and  he  knew  they  knew  it. 
The  Medici  only  awaited  the  completion  of  these  statues 
when  they  counted  to  assassinate  him.  Angelo  mistrusted 
it,  and  under  one  pretext  and  another  delayed  completion, 
until  at  last  he  died  in  a  natural  way.  But  it  looked  funny 
to  see  a  statue  all  complete  except  one  leg  from  the  knee 
down,  another  from  the  waist  down,  and  so  on.  In  the 
afternoon  we  saw  cathedrals  and  churches,  of  which  there 
are  too  many. 

The  Arno  runs  through  town,  spanned  by  six  bridges — 
four  of  stone,  one  wire  suspension,  one  iron.  They  made  a 
lake  400  feet  wide  and  a  mile  long,  by  excavation,  and  a 
dam,  walled  on  either  side.  Our  hotel  faces  on  this  lake, 
with  only  a  street  and  a  battlement  between;  it  is  very 
pleasant,  and  the  weather  that  of  summer.  There  are  ripe 
apricots  in  market  about  the  size  of  cherries.  Today  at 
eleven  we  skip  from  here  to  Venice. 

Love  in  full  measure, 

STEPH.  G.  NYE. 


Z3l)c  (Tfyarm  of  Venice 

VENICE,  June  2. 
My  Dear  Children : 

Thursday  noon  we  started  from  Florence  for  Venice, 
six  hours  away,  on  a  charming  summer's  day,  and  through 
green  fields,  a  fertile  country  and  hills  and  mountains  green 
to  their  summits.  What  was  pleasant  and  surprising  was 
to  see  in  a  country  with  a  written  history  running  back  of 
the  2000  notch,  trees  covering  steep  hill  and  mountainsides 
with  a  green  crown  of  beauty,  apparently  from  two  to  forty 
years  old;  so  strong  a  contrast  to  the  naked  barrenness  of 
Palestine  and  Syria.  Government  oversight  and  a  forestry 
commission  explain  it. 

All  the  little  towns  on  the  way  have  some  historical 
interest.  Pistoja,  a  town  of  12,000,  was  the  place  where 
pistols  were  invented  and  gave  its  name  to  the  weapon. 
Further  on  is  Bologna,  a  large  town  noted  for  its  university, 
which,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  numbered  thousands  of 
students,  and  among  its  professors  several  distinguished 
women,  among  them  the  learned  Novello  Andrea,  a  lady 
of  such  dazzling  beauty  that  she  delivered  her  lectures  from 
behind  a  curtain.  The  young  men  students  of  that  day 
were  no  less  susceptible  than  their  brothers  of  today.  Fer- 
rara  is  another  considerable  town  on  the  route,  containing 
many  moldering  ruins  of  former  greatness,  the  original 
Tiome  of  the  House  of  Este,  which  furnished  a  husband  for 
the  infamous  Lucrezia  Borgia. 


234  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

Padua,  away  back  about  the  beginning  of  the  Christian 
era,  was  the  richest  town  in  Northern  Italy,  but  when  the 
barbarians  immigrated  they  wiped  her  out.  Of  course, 
every  town  has  a  church  or  a  cathedral,  with  one  or  more 
saintly  relics,  usually  more. 

In  crossing  the  Apennines  we  passed  more  than  thirty 
tunnels.  Near  Ferrara  we  crossed  the  Po,  a  sluggish  river 
having  its  rise  away  near  the  eastern  boundary  of  France. 
From  here  to  Venice  water  stands  in  every  ditch  and  by 
every  roadside,  and  no  part  of  the  country  seems  more  than 
four  feet  from  the  surface  of  the  water  and  the  land 
stretches  out  in  wide  plains  from  the  river. 

We  reached  Venice  before  sunset,  by  railway,  which, 
for  a  long  distance,  is  carried  in  on  a  solid  mole  walled  up 
with  faced  rock  and  stone  battlements  on  either  side.  We 
went  to  our  hotel  in  gondolas.  Venice  is  a  funny  old 
town — looks  as  if  it  had  ripened  and  gone  to  seed;  marble 
and  limestone  structures  rising  out  of  the  water,  rusty  and 
black  with  age;  no  trace  of  new  buildings;  externally  it 
brings  no  sentiment  of  romance  to  make  one  hum  "I  dreamt 
I  dwelt  in  marble  halls." 

Venice  is  a  town  of  96,000  people,  with  15,000 
houses,  living  on  a  piece  of  land  six  and  a  half  miles 
in  circumference,  consisting  of  117  small  islands  made 
such  by  more  than  150  canals  and  connected  by  378 
arched  stone  bridges,  so  gondolas  may  pass  under,  with 
no  sound  of  cart  or  horse  or  wagon,  boats  for  coaches, 
and  forever  the  lap  and  swish  of  the  lazy  tide  at  your 
front  steps.  In  the  center  of  each  block  or  island 
are  courts  and  streets  crowded  and  active.  We  tried  a 


THE  CHARM   OF  VENICE  235 

half  day  with  a  gondola  and  a  gondolier  prowling  about 
among  back  alleys  and  narrow  canals  just  wide  enough  for 
two  narrow  gondolas  to  pass. 

The  water  is  salt,  but  the  tide  never  rises  much  over  a 
foot,  and  if  anybody  thinks  that  life,  boating  along  these 
narrow  waterways,  is  a  summer  dream,  let  him  try  it 
on  a  hot  summer  afternoon  and  stir  up  the  ooze  and  slime 
and  filth  and  stench  of  more  than  a  thousand  years,  and 
take  it  all  in  for  two  or  three  hours,  and  he  will  never  sing 
again  "The  Gay  Gondolier,"  and  his  first  meal  after,  his 
appetite  won't  bankrupt  his  hotel.  But  on  the  Grand 
Canal  and  on  the  broader  water,  where  wind  and  wave  give 
more  action  and  keep  it  sweet,  on  a  moonlight  night  with 
the  soft,  warm  air  wrapping  you  as  in  delicious  robes,  and 
the  utter  silence  of  night  about  you,  I  will  confess  to  its 
captivations ;  I  know  nothing  of  a  negative  nature  more 
entrancing. 

Yesterday  morn  came  telegrams  that  to  the  Queen  of 
Italy  was  born  a  daughter;  by  noon  were  posted  notices 
that  at  9  p.  M.  there  would  be  music  by  the  military  band 
and  illuminations  on  Piazza  di  St.  Mark  and  the  Grand 
Canal.  We  took  that  hour  for  a  gondola  ride.  When  the 
red  lights  shed  their  glow  all  along  the  city  front,  the  marks 
of  age  faded  and  the  city  sprang  up  fresh,  pink  and  glow- 
ing, as  if  youth  had  come  again,  and  the  palace  of  the  doges 
seemed  a  creation  of  enchantment.  It  was  the  queen's  first; 
had  it  been  a  boy  Italy  would  have  gone  mad. 

In  the  morning  we  had  gone  up  to  the  Lido,  an  island 
where  are  bath  houses  and  shops  and  hotels  and  fine  private 
houses  and  vineyards  and  orchards,  a  narrow  island,  a  place 


236  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

of  resorts,  to  which  little  steamers  run  every  ten  minutes. 
Don't  you  know,  I  like  a  boat  that  makes  the  water  sing 
around  her  prow;  it  made  it  seem  like  home,  and  I  fear 
the  glamour  and  enchantment  and  charm  of  the  Venetian 
gondola  are  gone  forever. 

Every  considerable  Italian  city  has  its  great  cathedral. 
It  is  to  an  Italian  city  what  a  big  hotel  or  a  park  or  a  boule- 
vard is  to  an  aspiring  American  town.  Venice  has  her  St. 
Mark's.  It  is  at  one  end  of  St.  Mark's  Square  or  Piazza, 
as  they  call  it.  The  other  sides  of  the  square  are  built  up 
with  noble  buildings  with  fine  wide  corridors,  or  porches, 
supported  by  lofty  columns  and  occupied  as  stores  of  the 
nobby  kind,  where  you  get  fine  goods  and  pay  high  prices. 
The  interior  space,  192x75  yards,  is  an  open  space  paved 
with  limestone  flagging.  I  shall  not  describe  the  cathedral ; 
enough  to  say  it  is  a  noble  structure,  and  it  has  cost  a  mint 
of  money. 

Almost  everybody  has  heard  of  the  doves  of  St.  Mark, 
and  the  feeding  of  them  each  day  at  2  o'clock.  About  that 
hour  from  roofs  and  cornices  come  clouds  of  doves  and 
light  in  the  public  square  to  be  fed;  and  scores  of  men, 
women,  and  children  come  with  a  cent's  worth  of  corn  to 
feed  them.  It  is  a  religious  rite  of  the  people  of  Venice. 
And  how  tame  they  are !  Harriet  got  some  corn,  and  how 
they  swarmed  around  her  and  over  her.  There  is  a  legend 
about  it.  Venice  is  a  child  of  the  sea.  But  that  is  another 
story.  St.  Mark  is  her  patron  saint.  About  the  fifth 
century  the  Benedictine  monks  had  a  little  church  on  the 
spot  where  is  now  the  cathedral.  One  of  the  monks  had  a 
dream — a  revelation — that  St.  Mark's  bones  were  at 


X^fxHTR^Sl^ 
/  O' THE 

UNIVERSITY 


THE  CHARM  OF  VENICE  237 

Alexandria  in  Egypt,  and  the  revelation  told  where  they 
could  be  found.  He  was  told  that  if  the  merchants  of 
Venice  would  get  the  bones  and  build  over  them  a  cathedral 
Venice  would  become  the  largest  city  of  the  world. 

The  merchants  of  Venice  were  thrifty,  and  they  set  to 
work  to  find  the  bones.  They  continued  the  quest  for  cen- 
turies. Meantime  monks  and  merchants  died,  but  other 
monks  and  merchants  grew;  but  the  quest  went  on  until 
success  came.  Some  Venetian  sailors  found  the  burial- 
place,  in  Egypt,  which  was  in  possession  of  the  Moslems, 
but  neither  money  nor  flattery  could  obtain  the  bones.  The 
Oriental  is  a  trader — sell  anything,  even  his  wife ;  but  above 
all  things  he  is  susceptible  to  bribery.  The  sailors  bribed 
the  keeper  of  the  tomb  and  got  the  bones. 

To  conceal  them  they  stowed  them  in  the  bottom  of  a 
barrel  of  pork.  When  they  wished  to  take  their  cargo  out 
of  the  city  of  Alexandria  the  Moslem  officers,  when  they 
examined  the  barrel  and  found  only  pork,  held  their  noses 
and  turned  their  faces  away  from  the  hated  pork.  Then  the 
sailors  lost  their  way,  when  two  doves  came  and  piloted 
them  to  the  harbor,  where  was  their  ship,  and  they  sailed 
for  Venice.  The  doves  flew  away  and  stayed  not  nor  ate 
nor  drank  until  they  rested  on  the  roof  of  the  little  church 
of  St.  Mark.  When  the  sailors  brought  their  precious 
freight  they  knew  their  friends,  the  doves.  Soon  all  Venice 
knew  God  had  wrought  a  miracle,  and  the  merchants  of 
Venice  built  the  great  cathedral  to  house  the  bones,  and  the 
city  grew  until  she  was  known  the  wide  world  over  as  the 
empress  of  trade  and  commerce. 


238  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

And  so  it  is  that  the  clouds  of  doves  today  are  the 
children  of  God's  messengers  of  so  long  ago,  and  Venice 
gives  them  the  protection  they  deserve.  Sculptured  saints 
and  angels  and  prophets  and  apostles  lend  grace  and  dignity 
and  beauty  to  the  fagade  of  the  noble  cathedral.  These, 
and  every  arch  and  cornice  and  projection  furnish  resting 
places  for  the  doves  and  the  filth  and  guano  of  the  dove- 
cote cover  all;  it  looks  like  an  ancient  hen-roost.  Believe 
it?  Certainly.  Let  no  doubt  attack  faith's  structure  or 
all  is  lost.  Faith's  subtlest  enemies — how  often  are  they 
found  in  the  house  of  her  friends ! 

Friday  afternoon  we  took  boats  and  visited  the  Rialto. 
We  were  shown  the  identical  house  where  lived  the  Mer- 
chant of  Venice;  the  very  room  where  Shylock  ran  his 
pawnshop — there  is  a  cheap  ginmill  alongside  it  now. 
Here  again  the  empire  of  faith  is  triumphant,  I  believe; 
although  William  Shakespeare,  living,  would  doubtless  go 
back  on  it. 

One  of  the  leading  industries  of  this  city  is  lace- 
making,  wherein  many  thousands  of  girls  are  employed. 
We  visited  two  factories  where  were  explained  the  mys- 
teries. The  employees  seemed  intelligent  and  contented 
and  healthy  and  happy;  yet  the  manager  of  one  establish- 
ment, a  bright  young  woman  who  has  lived  in  New  York 
six  years,  told  me  their  average  wages  was  about  ten  cents 
a  day.  I  can  not  understand  it;  the  lace  brings  money. 

Another  industry  is  the  Venetian  glass-making;  and 
what  lovely  things  they  make;  and  alas,  the  lovely  prices 
attached.  Of  all  Italian  cities  Naples  is  the  only  one  I 
have  seen  bearing  evidence  of  poverty.  Here  they  seem 


THE  CHARM  OF  VENICE  239 

self -support  ing,  self-respecting,  busy  and  happy;  and  cer- 
tainly fine  looking,  both  men  and  women. 

There  is  much  to  be  said  of  the  doges  and  their  palace 
(for  a  doge  was  but  a  ruler  or  president  or  leader,  from  the 
Latin  dux,  a  leader  or  general),  of  their  rule,  of  the  growth 
of  Venice — how  she  was  redeemed  from  the  sea,  how  com- 
merce came  to  her  and  she  became  the  great  money  changer 
between  the  Occident  and  the  Orient;  how  the  magnificence 
and  equipage  of  a  Venetian  merchant  rivaled  the  courts  of 
royalty  and  their  wives  and  daughters  wore  the  silks  and 
jewels  of  queens.  But  that  is  another  story.  I  have  in 
imagination  laid  out  a  course  of  reading  in  Venetian  his- 
tory; it  is  fascinating.  But  that  is  still  another  story. 

The  utilitarian  spirit  of  today  has  seized  upon  Venice. 
Palaces  have  become  caravansaries  where  large  prices  are 
charged  for  small  service.  The  Ferro  Palace  and  the  Fini- 
Wimpfen  Palace,  once  the  homes  of  dukes,  facing  on  the 
Grand  Canal,  now  house  the  tourist  under  the  title  of  the 
Grand  Hotel,  which  is  our  temporary  home.  Let  us  not 
be  unduly  exalted. 

But  more  another  time — not  about  Venice,  however, 
for  we  go  to  Milan  tomorrow. 

With  love.    Paternally  yours, 

STEPH.  G.  NYE. 


an6  I5^nce  to 

LUCERNE,  June  6. 
My  Dear  Kinsell : 

We  left  Venice  for  Milan  Monday  morning,  going  as 
we  came,  by  gondolas  to  reach  our  train,  and  over  a 
country  as  level  nearly  as  the  sea,  thoroughly  ditched,  and 
water  apparently  close  to  the  surface. 

Milan,  a  city  of  over  400,000  people,  we  reached  at 
2  P.  M.,  lunched,  and  then  went  to  see  its  famous  cathedral 
and  the  renowned  mural  painting  of  the  Lord's  Supper. 
It  is  a  poor  city  in  Italy  that  has  not  a  famous  cathedral,  a 
painting,  a  sculptured  saint,  or  an  apostle's  toe  to  attract 
the  gaping  curiosity  of  the  tourist.  Milan's  cathedral  is 
in  size  the  largest  in  Europe  save  St.  Peter's.  The  latter 
appears  so  airy  and  light  at  first  it  seems  more  like  a  dream ; 
looking  further  at  the  massive  dome  and  immense  propor- 
tions one  wonders  why  it  stands ;  until  finally  the  conviction 
falls  on  one  thoroughly,  why  should  it  not  stand? 

Not  so  with  the  Milan  cathedral.  With  its  massive 
proportions,  its  lofty  arches  and  far-away  ceilings,  sup- 
ported by  four  rows  of  great  pillars,  each  eleven  feet  in 
diameter,  no  doubt  of  stability  ever  enters  the  mind.  The 
impression  is  made,  fixed  and  immovable,  that  the  cathedral 
is  there  to  stay.  The  columns  are  surmounted  by  some- 
thing like  a  Corinthian  cap,  below  which  are  sculptured 
figures  innumerable;  so  that,  taking  the  entire  church,  there 
are  sculptured  figures  numbering  over  4,000.  The  cathe- 
dral has  already  cost  over  $110,000,000,  and  is  yet  incom- 


MILAN  AND  THENCE  TO  THE  ALPS          241 

plete.  It  was  begun  in  the  fourteenth  century.  To  its 
construction  one  noble  contributed  the  marble,  others  great 
sums  of  money. 

One  of  our  company  said,  "What  a  waste  of  money." 

"Waste,"  said  our  guide,  who  is  an  Italian  of  the 
Victor  Emmanuel  school,  "it  was  given  by  men  who  had  it 
to  give." 

"Better  have  been  given  to  the  poor,"  was  the  reply. 

"No,"  said  the  guide,  "the  poor  are  not  helped  by 
giving  them  money;  it  begets  idleness  and  more  poverty. 
The  poor  get  help  by  giving  them  work  to  do,  and  teaching 
them  habits  of  industry;  that  is  how  the  building  of  this 
cathedral  helped  the  poor — they  got  it  all  in  wages." 

I  submit  whether  the  guide  was  not  stating  a  clear 
proposition  in  political  economics. 

There  is  a  legend  that  St.  Bartholomew  was  skinned 
alive.  Some  fiend  has  chiseled  in  marble  that  skinless 
saint;  gaunt,  terrible,  and  barbaric,  every  muscle  and  vein 
naked  and  exposed;  the  figure  standing  beside  the  altar, 
with  his  skin  thrown  over  his  left  arm.  Is  that  art?  It 
ought  to  condemn  the  author  to  hard  labor  for  life,  and  I 
should  pray  that  his  life  might  be  a  long  one.  In  a  near-by 
gallery  is  the  mural  painting  of  the  Lord's  Supper.  It  has 
suffered  from  age  and  exposure,  and  on  another  wall  to  the 
right  another  artist  has  reproduced  it.  Beginning  fifty 
years  ago  I  have  heard  clergymen,  who  have  visited  this 
gallery  and  whom  I  trusted  as  possessed  of  the  art  spirit, 
describe  with  rapture  how,  after  gazing  hour  by  hour  at 
the  old,  marred,  and  faded  painting,  such  ecstatic  beauty, 
such  wonderful  passions  were  revealed  and  glowed  from  that 


242  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

old  wall.  I  don't  believe  it.  It  was  imagination,  pure 
and  unadulterated. 

Lombardy,  of  which  Milan  is  the  commercial  center 
and  the  capital,  is  an  extremely  fertile  and  beautiful  body 
of  land.  The  system  of  irrigation  there  used  is  the  most 
perfect  in  Europe  and  the  results  obtained  are  perhaps  the 
best  in  the  world.  Baedeker  says  there  are  places  there 
that  produce  twelve  crops  of  grass  a  year. 

This  is  the  territory  whence  comes  the  Parmesan 
cheese.  Here,  too,  grows  the  mulberry  as  it  grows  no- 
where else  in  Europe;  the  leaves  being  used  for  silkworms. 
Milan  is  a  great  silk  center.  When  Austria  held  this 
country,  something  like  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  her  army 
was  supported  on  mulberry  leaves;  that  is  to  say,  the  tax 
on  the  silk  industry  of  Lombardy  fed  and  clothed  the  entire 
Austrian  army. 

Milan  is  a  great  city,  with  wide  streets  and  modern 
buildings,  with  less  old  ruins  and  moldering  churches  and 
more  compound  business  hustle  than  any  other  city  in  Italy. 
Did  I  go  out  and  mingle  with  the  people  on  these  fertile 
plains  and  learn  of  their  water  supply  and  their  scheme  of 
irrigation  and  of  the  tenure  of  land,  and  if  the  peasant  who 
tilled  the  land  was  the  owner,  what  his  land  yielded  and 
what  was  its  value,  and  what  his  political  and  social  value, 
and  what  his  political  and  social  position?  Did  I  seek  the 
marts  and  factories  of  beautiful  Milan  and  learn  of  their 
output*?  Hardly.  I  was  a  member  of  an  American 
tourist  party  which  paused  not,  nor  ate,  nor  slept,  save  near 
a  tomb,  a  cathedral,  or  a  ruin.  Our  stay  in  Milan  by 
daylight  was  six  hours. 


u 

II 


MILAN  AND  THENCE  TO  THE  ALPS          243 

Next  morning  we  pointed  noses  towards  the  Alps,  and 
by  dint  of  fifty-three  tunnels  we  reached  Lake  Lucerne  by 
2  o'clock,  thence  by  boat  for  an  hour,  and  then  we  went 
over  the  cogged  railroad  to  Rigi,  four  miles,  making  a  raise 
of  4,000  feet.  At  the  lake  and  half-way  up,  grass  was  rich, 
luxurious,  and  abundant  in  varieties,  and  such  vivid  colors 
of  wild  flowers  it  was  bewildering  to  see.  In  Lombardy  we 
left  ripe  cherries;  here  they  are  barely  out  of  blossom,  and 
from  the  lake  half  way  up,  such  a  noble  growth  of  trees — 
not  large,  but  numerous. 

Later  I  learned  that  the  government  has  interfered  by 
law  to  prevent  denuding  mountainsides  of  tree  growth;  that 
a  man,  before  he  can  cut  timber,  must  get  a  permit  from 
the  local  forestry  officer,  and  then  the  officer  sets  a  tree  for 
every  one  cut.  This  applies  only  to  government  timber. 
It  saves  the  timber;  it  saves  the  soil  from  being  washed 
away,  and  it  saves  the  snow  from  melting  too  rapidly, 
making  destructive  floods. 

A  Lucerner  said  to  me:  "The  government  was  com- 
pelled to  interfere,  or  the  Swiss  Alps  would  soon  be  as 
barren  as  the  hills  of  Palestine;  it  would  have  been  better 
had  she  begun  protection  300  years  ago."  As  it  is,  the 
steepest  mountainsides,  right  down  to  the  water's  edge  of 
Lake  Lucerne,  are  covered  with  a  mantle  of  green  trees,  and 
the  scenery  is  not  only  grand  from  its  great  mountains,  but 
it  is  indescribably  beautiful. 

There  was  still  on  the  north  side  of  our  hotel  at  Rigi 
quite  a  snow  bank,  showing  that  at  6,000  feet  above  the 
sea,  winter  tardily  yields  to  the  summer  sun.  The  view 
from  a  point  just  back  of  the  hotel  was  grand  beyond 


244  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

description.  The  grandeur  of  a  view  can  not  be  described; 
it  may  be  seen  and  felt.  To  the  west,  right  at  our  feet, 
4,000  feet  below,  lay  Lake  Lucerne.  Steamers  looked  the 
size  of  a  duck;  trains  of  cars  on  its  margin  crawled  lazily 
along,  and  when  it  entered  a  mountain  and  soon  emerged 
on  the  other  side,  it  seemed  like  a  worm  twisting  itself 
through  a  molehill.  Little  spots  in  the  valley  on  closer 
scrutiny  proved  to  be  farms  and  farmhouses.  Farther 
around  to  the  north  is  a  bare  rock  whence  slid  a  mountain 
of  dirt  and  trees  and  buried  a  village  of  200  houses  and 
with  them  fourteen  people.  That  was  ninety-five  years 
ago.  Farther  around  to  the  right  are  the  Jungfrau,  the 
Monch  and  the  Eiger,  whose  ice-capped  summits  shine 
resplendent.  Night  came  on  chilly  and  every  bed  had  for 
a  cover  a  thick  eiderdown  quilt,  such  a  contrast  to  the 
climate  of  Milan,  where  sleep  depended  on  getting  back  to 
a  state  of  nature. 

Next  day  we  got  back  to  the  lake,  and  what  a  delight- 
ful steamer  ride  was  that  to  Lucerne,  where  we  now  are. 
Lucerne  has  about  26,000  people,  and  seems  a  well-built, 
modern  town.  Its  main  business  is  housing  and  caring  for 
the  tourist.  All  up  the  mountainsides  near  the  city  are  the 
sweet  Swiss  cottages  which  English  and  American  families 
are  but  too  glad  to  rent  for  the  season  at  large  rentals. 
Their  stock  in  trade  does  not  consist  of  martyrs'  bones,  or 
skinless  saints,  or  old  churches,  or  moldering  ruins.  Scenery 
is  the  drawing  card.  Yet  Lucerne  is  no  slouch  on  antiqui- 
ties, but  she  turns  them  to  very  practical  account.  This 
very  hotel  where  we  now  are  was  the  town  hall,  the  home 
of  the  municipal  government  and  where  her  courts  were 


MILAN  AND  THENCE  TO  THE  ALPS          245 

held.  That  was  in  1389.  In  1503  it  was  the  town  school- 
house;  it  had  become  an  inn  in  1519  with  red  doors,  in- 
dicative that  it  was  the  Butchers'  Retreat.  In  1586  a  trade 
guild,  known  as  the  Guild  of  SafTrau,  owned  it.  In  1836 
it  became  the  Hotel  Waager  or  des  Balances,  and  it  bears 
its  name  yet.  Its  entire  front  is  covered  with  mural  paint- 
ings, illustrative  of  its  history.  She  puts  on  no  airs  because 
of  her  longevity,  but  trudges  along  in  the  good  old  way, 
furnishing  good  entertainment  for  a  fair  price  and  kindly 
asks  you  to  "call  again." 

The  city  has  other  ancient  landmarks,  but  that  is  not 
her  reliance.  She  is  a  charming  town  and  I  shall  never 
forget  her. 

Let  me  speak  of  the  Lion  of  Lucerne.  Near  the 
Glacier  Gardens  is  a  perpendicular  wall  of  rock.  An  artist 
has  carved  out  of  or  into  the  living  rock  the  figure  of  a  dying 
lion.  The  image  is  twenty-eight  feet  long  by  eighteen  feet 
high,  and  is  nobly  done.  In  1792  Louis  XVI  of  France 
had  a  Swiss  guard  of  800  men  who  were  his  pride.  Then 
came  the  French  Revolution  wherein  the  king  lost  his  life, 
and  in  defense  of  their  king  760  of  the  Swiss  guard  were 
killed,  and  this  sculpture  is  in  their  memory.  The  dead 
lion  has  one  paw  on  the  broken  shield  of  France,  while 
through  his  heart  is  plunged  the  fatal  spear.  Above  is  the 
inscription:  Helvetiorum  fidei  ac  virtuti,  to  the  fidelity 
and  bravery  of  the  Helvetians. 

These  are  descendants  of  the  same  Helvetians  of  whom 
Julius  Caesar  writes  in  the  Gallic  wars.  He  pronounced 
them  first-class  fighters  and  intense  lovers  of  liberty. 


246  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

The  Glacier  Gardens  contain  some  chapters  of  history. 
Some  years  ago  excavation  revealed  the  path  of  a  glacier — 
the  path  it  ground  in  the  solid  rock  is  there;  underneath  it 
had  run  a  stream  which  had  caught  rocks  and  whirled  them 
round  and  round  until  great  holes  were  made  in  the  bed  of 
the  rock  (one  of  them  twenty-six  feet  wide  and  thirty  feet 
deep),  and  in  the  bottom  are  two  rocks  which  had  whirled 
and  worn  to  the  shape  of  spheres.  There  was  also  a  large 
section  of  rock  composed  largely  of  sea  shells  and  fish  bones; 
another  wherein  the  leaf  of  a  palm  is  found.  This 
country  is  rich  in  the  fossils  of  the  mastodon  and  of  other 
large  tropical  animals.  God  writes  history  with  "iron  pen 
and  diamond  point." 

"In  the  beginning  God  created  the  heaven  and  the 
earth;"  reckoned  in  years,  when*? 

Yours  very  truly, 

S.  G.  N. 


,  Gertie,  and  (Beneva 


My  Dear  Children:  GENEVA,  June  12. 

This  letter  concerns  three  beautiful  towns  —  Inter- 
laken,  Berne,  and  Geneva.  The  first,  as  the  name  suggests, 
is  betwixt  two  lakes  —  Brienz  and  Thun,  connected  by  the 
swift-flowing  Aar,  on  both  sides  of  which  the  town  is  built, 
and  which  furnishes  power  for  many  industries  and  gives 
electric  lighting  to  the  town  of  2,500  people.  The  plain  is 
not  more  than  three  and  one-half  miles  long  by  two  broad, 
flanked  on  either  side  by  grand,  lofty  Alpine  ranges;  but 
on  the  south  opens  a  gap  in  the  range  through  which  shows 
from  summit  to  base  the  dazzling  Jungfrau,  nearly  14,000 
feet  high,  and  this  is  the  town's  drawing  card.  As  the 
years  pass  travel  increases,  until  now  more  than  60,000 
visitors  come  to  this  place  annually.  It  has  entirely  trans- 
formed the  architecture  of  this  country,  and  to  a  large  extent 
its  industries.  It  has  multiplied  railroads,  and  they  and 
the  hotels  give  openings  to  young  men  and  women  for  em- 
ployment more  congenial  than  life  on  the  little  farms, 
where  the  contest  for  a  living  is  sharp  and  continuous. 

Switzerland  has  always  been  considered  a  good 
country  to  emigrate  from,  but  above  all  things  the  Swiss 
loves  his  native  land;  and  when,  after  years  of  life  in 
England  or  America,  he  visits  home  again,  possessed  of  the 
English  language,  he  is  sought  for  and  finds  remunerative 
service  in  railway  or  hotel. 

And  so  it  is:  the  farmer  finds  his  daughter  deserting 


248  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

the  house,  the  heavy  shoes  and  plain  dress  for  the  daintier 
garb  and  pleasanter  duties  of  waitress  or  chambermaid  in 
up-to-date  hotels,  and  Frangois  or  Hans  drives  an  engine 
or  a  cab,  or  wears  a  hotel  badge  on  his  cap,  while  the  "old 
man"  has  found  that  farm  wages  have  doubled  and  farming 
is  impossible. 

To  some  extent  this  is  true  all  over  Switzerland.  In 
the  larger  cities,  like  Lucerne,  Berne,  Zurich,  and  Geneva, 
it  has  given  manufacturing  an  impetus,  for  the  Swiss  are 
noted  for  their  deft  fingers  and  cunning  device,  and  the  pres- 
ence of  so  many  strangers  creates  a  demand.  For  instance : 
in  the  single  line  of  watches  there  are  manufactured 
7,000,000  per  annum  in  this  little  country. 

The  government  and  every  city  and  every  individual 
in  Switzerland  emulates  each  other  in  plans  and  devices  to 
make  the  country  attractive  to  the  tourist.  The  State  owns 
its  railroads,  and  for  $10  it  issues  to  any  person  a  circular 
ticket  which  carries  him  on  any  railroad  or  steamer  in 
Switzerland.  In  every  town  is  a  bureau  of  information, 
where  the  traveler  is  furnished  with  pamphlets  and 
statistics  with  oral  information  free.  Then,  in  most  of  the 
towns  are  voluntary  local  societies  which  make  it  their 
business  to  receive  complaints  and  inquire  into  grievances 
concerning  overcharges  or  misconduct  of  hotel  or  baggage 
men.  The  whole  tendency  is  to  make  honest  men  of  en- 
tertainers, and  it  seems  to  me  they  are  such,  both  from 
principle  and  expediency.  Courteous  treatment  and  fair 
charges  prevail  so  far  as  we  have  seen. 

Interlaken  has  fine  streets,  beautiful  yards  and  gardens 
and  fine  shady  promenades.  Much  to  be  admired  is  a 


INTERLAKEN,   BERNE,   AND   GENEVA          249 

stately  row  of  English  walnuts,  some  of  which  reach  nearly 
five  feet  in  diameter,  and  are  reputed  to  be  close  to  200 
years  old. 

Is  there  such  a  thing  as  a  plethora  of  magnificent 
scenery — a  dyspepsia  of  grandeur  *?  For  some  days  now 
the  beetling  Alps  have  been  overhanging  us,  trying  to  smile 
on  us  in  their  huge,  gigantic  way;  the  Jungfrau  with  shining 
face,  but  forever  giving  one  the  consciousness  of  chilliness 
and  immensity.  Sure  it  is  that  when  we  got  away  where 
the  valley  widens  and  there  were  rolling  fields  spreading  far 
away  with  thriving  vineyards  and  charming  trees  and 
•-stretches  of  meadow,  we  all  felt  a  sort  of  relief — a  feeling 
that  the  great  mountains  were  a  good  tonic,  but  for  a  steady 
>diet,  give  us  the  other. 

Our  destination  was  Berne,  the  capital  of  the  Swiss 
^confederation,  a  charming  city  of  50,000.  In  the  far  dis- 
tance one  sees  six  of  the  most  celebrated  peaks  of  the  Alps, 
while  stretching  away  from  the  city  towards  the  mountains 
;are  charming  landscapes.  Berne  is  the  German  name  for 
bear,  which  is  on  the  national  coat  of  arms.  For  centuries 
a  bear  garden  has  been  kept  at  public  expense.  When 
Napoleon  took  in  this  country  he  carted  off  the  bears  to 
Paris;  but  on  the  return  of  peace  these  Swiss  clamored  for 
their  bears  and  they  were  returned. 

The  city  has  a  famous  clock  tower,  built  in  1191  and 
still  running.  Three  minutes  before  the  hour  a  wooden 
rooster  (along  in  years  now)  flaps  his  wings  and  crows  like 
any  well-regulated  rooster,  then  a  procession  of  bears 
marches  around  the  figure  of  a  king,  then  the  clock  strikes 
;the  hour;  it  tells  the  hour,  the  day  of  the  week  and  of  the 


250  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

month,  and  the  moon's  quarter.  Time  flies,  but  the  old 
clock  has  kept  tab  on  it  for  many  a  year. 

Geneva,  a  town  of  78,000,  is  at  the  foot  of  the  lake  of 
the  same  name,  which  has  for  its  outlet  the  swift-flowing 
Rhone,  which,  just  at  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  is  joined 
by  the  Arve,  and  together  they  hasten  on  to  France  and  to 
the  gulf  of  Lyons,  their  destination. 

The  city  of  Geneva  is  on  the  French  border  and  its 
people  speak  French,  while  other  cities  speak  German.  It 
has  an  abundance  of  water  power ;  owns  its  own  water,  gas, 
and  electric  lights,  but  an  American  company  owns  the 
street  car  lines.  Its  city  engineer,  T.  T.  Teradini,  who 
designed  and  built  the  city's  electric  light  plant  as  long  ago 
as  1885,  when  electric  lighting  was  in  its  infancy,  has  more 
than  a  local  reputation.  He  was  consulting  engineer  in 
the  construction  of  the  electric  power  plant  at  Niagara 
Falls,  for  which  he  received  a  generous  compensation. 

It  is  a  clean  city  and  all  the  modern  sanitary  devices 
have,  been  adopted  and  enforced,  and  statistics  show  that  it 
has  a  lower  death  rate  than  any  other  city  in  Europe.  It 
has  no  beetling  mountains  frowning  over  it.  The  country 
rolls  away  in  easy  graduations  to  the  higher  Alps,  but  the 
eternal  whiteness  of  Mt.  Blanc  is  clear  and  vivid  and  ma- 
jestic whenever  one  turns  his  way.  The  slopes  around 
Lake  Geneva  are  covered  with  vineyards  yielding  celebrated 
brands  of  wine.  Proprietors  are  very  jealous  of  the  reputa- 
tion of  their  wines  and  very  careful  to  preserve  it.  Since 
the  advent  of  the  tourist  there  is  a  demand  for  the  earliest 
grapes  at  the  largest  prices.  Do  the  local  vineyards  supply 
the  demand4?  Not  at  all.  Those  earliest  grapes  are  the 


INTERLAKEN,   BERNE,   AND   GENEVA          251 

best,  they  give  character  to  the  vintage,  and  the  tourist  is 
fed  on  imported  Italian  grapes. 

The  vineyards  look  funny  to  a  Californian.  The 
vines  are  set  22  by  30  inches  apart,  and  right  now  are  being 
tied  up  with  wisps  of  straw  to  four  feet  high,  inch  square 
stakes.  No  plow  can  get  between  them  and  they  are 
cultivated  by  hand  and  they  look  hearty  and  vigorous. 

Geneva  is  one  of  the  largest,  if  not  the  largest  watch- 
making city  in  the  world,  and  she  has,  I  believe,  in  every 
contest,  taken  the  first  prize  for  accuracy  in  chronological 
instruments. 

Geneva,  first  and  last,  has  quite  a  history.  Julius 
Csesar  fifty-eight  years  B.  C.  knocked  down  the  only  bridge 
across  the  Rhone,  made  the  city  a  Roman  province,  and  it 
remained  such  for  centuries.  John  Calvin  lived  and 
preached  and  ruled  here  in  the  sixteenth  century.  We 
visited  the  house  replacing  the  one  he  lived  in  and  saw  the 
church  he  preached  in.  "Let  no  stone  mark  my  resting 
place"  was  his  oft-expressed  request,  and  no  one  knows 
where  he  sleeps.  He  instituted  schools  and  was  the  friend 
of  learning  and  good  government  and  did  a  great  work  for 
Switzerland.  But  such  a  bigot!  Whether  Catholic  or 
Protestant,  in  that  age  they  thought  heresy  deserved  fire, 
and  they  had  a  playful  way  of  making  a  bonfire  of  the 
heretic.  The  Catholics  hung  and  burned  Savonarola  at 
Florence,  and  the  great  Protestant,  Calvin,  burned  Serve tus 
at  Geneva.  In  the  public  library  connected  with  the  uni- 
versity is  a  picture  of  Servetus  bearing  this  satiric  inscrip- 
tion: "Burnt  at  Geneva  to  the  honor  and  glory  of  God." 

And  that  reminds  me,  in  this  university  are  at  present 


252  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

about  1,100  students,  a  majority  of  whom  are  girls.  This 
I  learned  from  a  co-ed.  The  New  Woman  has  got  Switzer- 
land. Oh,  if  Calvin  had  only  let  Servetus  alone,  not  a 
blot  would  have  attached  to  the  memory  of  that  great  man. 

One  spot  in  the  city  is  of  particular  interest  to  Ameri- 
cans. A  room  in  the  town  hall  is  marked  "Salle  de  1' Ala- 
bama"; that  is,  "Alabama  Hall."  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  say  that  in  the  American  secession  war  the  British  gov- 
ernment knowingly  permitted  the  Alabama  to  be  built  in 
English  shipyards  and  to  go  out  of  an  English  harbor  for 
the  use  of  the  Confederates  to  prey  on  American  commerce 
against  the  protest  of  the  United  States  and  contrary  to  the 
laws  of  nations,  and  the  Alabama  cut  a  wide  swath.  When 
the  domestic  difficulty  was  settled,  the  United  States  pre- 
sented to  Great  Britain  her  bill  for  damages,  amounting  to 
many  millions.  The  law  was  conceded  by  both  sides,  the 
only  issue  was  the  amount  of  damages.  It  was  submitted 
to  arbitration,  and  in  this  room  in  the  town  hall  in  the  city 
of  Geneva,  after  a  full  hearing,  was  rendered  the  award  in 
favor  of  the  United  States  on  the  14th  day  of  September, 
1872.  It  is  a  case  which  is  often  quoted  and  approved,  and 
in  its  very  nature  will  stand  for  centuries  as  adjudicated 
authority  under  like  facts.  The  hall  with  its  light  red 
plush  furniture  is,  with  darkened  windows,  kept  locked, 
save  when  curious  persons  pray  a  view  of  it. 

Let  me  speak  of  another  American  relic  in  the  same 
hall.  At  a  meeting  of  the  Peace  Union  held  in  old  Inde- 
pendence Hall  in  1876  (Centennial  year)  a  Federal  officer 
of  volunteers  proposed  to  donate  his  sword  to  be  made  into 
a  pruning-hook,  and  other  officers  contributed  swords  enough 


INTERLAKEN,   BERNE,  AND  GENEVA         253 

to  make  a  plowshare,  and  they  were  so  converted,  and  a 
western  implement  firm  built  an  up-to-date  modern  pruning- 
hook  for  tree-top  trimming  and  a  natty  seven-tooth  Ameri- 
can corn  cultivator,  all  nickel-plated,  and  forming  a  very 
attractive  souvenir  of  that  hoped-for  season  of  universal 
peace.  It  was  on  parade  at  the  Paris  Exposition  of  1878, 
and  by  common  consent  the  city  of  Geneva  was  made  its 
custodian,  and  there  they  stand  on  a  raised  dais  in  Alabama 
Hall  as  bright  and  natty  as  the  day  they  went  from  the  fac- 
tory. Alas,  poor  unfortunate  harbingers  of  peace!  Who 
shall  stanch  your  tears'?  The  war  against  the  Mahdi,  the 
Cuban  or  Spanish  war,  the  Boer  war,  the  Chinese  war — and 
still  larger  armies  grow  and  stronger  navies  ride  the  seas. 

Wars  will  never  cease  until  woman  is  reconstructed. 
Did  you  ever  know  one  that  wouldn't  go  silly  over  brass 
buttons  and  epaulettes^  A  woman  hates  a  coward.  She 
would  prefer  to  be  a  brave  man's  widow  rather  than  a 
coward's  wife.  The  Roman  soldiers  were  short  of  women; 
they  made  war  on  the  Sabines,  drove  them  away  and  stole 
the  Sabine  maids  and  wives.  Peace  came  at  length  and  part 
of  the  terms  was  that  the  Sabine  women  be  restored.  The 
women  refused  to  be  restored;  they  loved  better  the  coura- 
geous Roman  who  fought  for  them  and  carried  them  away 
in  his  arms,  rather  than  the  coward  husband  or  lover  who 
ran  away.  Had  husband  and  lover  died  in  defense  of  wife 
and  sweetheart,  no  Sabine  woman  would  have  adorned  the 
Roman  camp.  But  that  is  another  story. 

The  French  women  turned  out  husband  and  son  and 
lover,  so  long  as  they  believed  Napoleon  was  promoting  the 
glory  of  France;  but  when  it  dawned  on  them  that  it  was 


254  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

his  own  ambition  he  was  promoting  they  "went  back  on 
him"  and  he  fell.  How  long  would  the  Boer  stand  it  were 
not  the  Boer  woman  the  stronger  man*?  In  the  late  seces- 
sion war  the  Confederacy  would  have  collapsed  the  first  year 
had  not  the  women  of  the  Confederacy  refused  to  eat  any- 
thing that  could  be  made  into  a  soldier's  ration.  How  was 
it  on  the  other  side*?  Here  is  a  sample:  it  was  in  the  dark 
days  of  the  fall  of  1863.  Disaster  had  attended  the  Union 
armies  and  there  was  a  call  for  more  troops.  Men  hesitated 
to  enlist.  There  was  a  meeting  held  in  a  schoolhouse  in 
Indiana  to  raise  a  company  for  the  war.  No  one  volun- 
teered. At  length  a  lady,  Mrs.  Collins  by  name,  arose,  and 
with  suppressed  feeling  said:  "Why,  men,  are  you  not  going 
to  enlist?  My  husband  went  to  the  war  the  first  thing. 
I've  got  six  boys  and  they  are  all  in  the  army;  and  if  I'd 
known  this  war  was  coming  on  I'd  had  a  couple  more."  A 
full  company  enlisted  in  that  neighborhood. 

Talk  of  Cornelia,  the  mother  of  the  Gracchi!  When 
Hannibal,  2,200  years  ago  and  over,  killed  15,000  Roman 
soldiers  at  Trasimenus  Lake  and  almost  frightened  the  life 
out  of  the  Roman  Senate,  Roman  matrons  poured  their 
jewels  into  the  empty  treasury  for  the  defense  of  Rome. 
Cornelia  came  with  her  two  sons,  the  Gracchi  boys,  and  said : 
"They  are  my  jewels;  take  them."  And  the  world  heard 
of  them.  She  was  justified  of  her  children.  A  few  weeks 
ago  I  looked  on  that  famous  battlefield.  I  saw  also  in  a 
museum  at  Rome  the  pediment  of  a  statue  decreed  to  Cor- 
nelia. It  had  these  words :  "Cornelia,  mater  Gracchorum." 
Who  shall  write  the  epitaph  of  this  infinitely  greater  Ameri- 
can Cornelia"? 


O.^THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


INTERLAKEN,   BERNE,   AND   GENEVA          255 

Now,  this  idea  of  the  relation  of  woman  and  war  I  have 
seen  before;  this  illustration  for  it  I  don't  think  I  have. 

The  country  around  Lake  Geneva  has  been  the  home 
of  many  learned  people.  At  Lausanne  Gibbon  wrote  the 
closing  pages  of  the  "Decline  and  Fall  of  Rome."  Ludlow 
and  Broughton,  two  of  the  judges  who  sentenced  Charles  I. 
to  death,  ended  their  days  at  Vevey.  Rousseau  lived  here 
for  a  time.  Geneva  was  a  favorite  city  of  Lord  Byron.  And 
then  there  were  Necker  and  Saussure  and  De  Candolle  and 
Sismondi  and  Le  Fort  and  Le  Sage  and  Madame  De  Stael 
and  Voltaire  and  D'Aubigne,  and  how  many  others  known 
to  the  world  of  science  and  literature — all  were  Genevese. 

The  Castle  of  Chillon  is  on  this  lake — the  subject  of 
Byron's  noblest  poem,  "The  Prisoner  of  Chillon."  And 
now  comes  the  iconoclast  and  rudely  shatters  our  ideal  by 
showing  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  prisoner  of  Chillon  is  a 
myth  and  William  Tell  a  creature  of  fancy.  I  wanted  to 
write  of  Zurich,  the  largest,  wealthiest  and  most  enterpris- 
ing city  in  Switzerland.  Let  that  keep. 

With  love, 

DADDIE  NYE. 


Zuricfy  an6  Strasburoj 

My  Dear  Tom :  BERLIN,  June  2 1 . 

Concerning  Zurich  a  few  words:  A  city  of  152,000, 
at  the  end  of  Lake  Zurich.  Through  its  center  runs  the 
swift-flowing  Limmat  (the  outlet  of  the  lake),  crossed  by 
seven  bridges,  and  the  north  half  of  the  city  again  divided 
by  the  River  Sihl,  which  unites  with  the  Limmat  at  the 
city's  eastern  edge.  It  was  the  ancient  Roman  Turicum, 
and  has  been  the  scene  of  hot  battles  in  ancient  and  modern 
times.  For  many  a  year  now  she  has  cultivated  the  arts  of 
peace,  is  devoted  to  the  general  and  thorough  education  of 
all  her  young  people,  has  a  university  of  no  mean  reputation, 
a  people  proud  of  their  city  and  their  country,  is  the  chief 
manufacturing  city  of  Switzerland,  is  beautiful  for  situa- 
tion, lovely  to  look  upon,  and  desirable  to  live  in.  Next  to 
Lyons  it  is  the  most  important  silk  manufacturing  city  in 
Europe. 

Basle,  sometimes  called  the  "Golden  Gate"  of  Switzer- 
land, a  city  of  100,000,  is  reputed  to  be  wealthier,  but  for 
getting  up  in  the  morning  and  for  compound  double  and 
twisted  business  hustle  and  energy  Zurich  carries  the  banner. 
We  visited  a  silk  factory  of  400  looms,  and  the  superintend- 
ent, with  great  courtesy,  showed  us  through  the  works.  No 
raw  silk  is  produced  in  Switzerland;  it  is  imported  from 
China,  Japan,  Lombardy,  France,  and  Asia  Minor,  where 
cocoons  are  grown  or  spun,  and  the  manipulation  of  the 
silk  through  all  the  stages  of  spinning,  dyeing,  weaving,  and 


ZURICH  AND  STRASBURG  257 

getting  it  ready  for  market  employs  the  labor  of  2,000 
people.  He  told  us  10,000  looms  were  employed  in  Zurich; 
you  can  estimate  how  many  people  they  keep  busy.  Wages 
are  from  40  to  60  cents  per  day,  and  90  per  cent  of  the  em- 
ployees are  women. 

In  this  establishment,  behind  it  all,  is  one  master  mind, 
controlling  all  its  intricacies  and  personally  able  to  work 
in  any  capacity  in  any  part  of  the  works.  Like  so  many 
cases  the  world  over,  in  early  life  he  wore  the  blue  blouse 
and  wrought  at  the  loom  and  earned  his  two  francs  a  day. 
Yet  they  say  the  working  man  is  played  out.  Not  if  he  has 
brains.  But  that  is  another  story. 

Then,  besides  her  silk  factories,  are  her  chemical  and 
iron  works  and  ingenious  machinery  and  engines  and  elec- 
trical devices  and  a  multitude  of  other  things,  which  keep 
a  city  buzzing  with  industry,  and  therefore  happy;  for  it 
is  the  lazy  man  who  is  the  growler  and  incites  labor  riots. 

Switzerland,  to  me,  is  interesting  and  is  a  wonder. 
Beyond  an  abundance  of  stone,  cement,  water  power,  and  a 
limited  supply  of  timber,  she  seems  to  have  little  of  natural 
resources.  Of  wine  she  has  more  than  enough,  but  she  im- 
ports silk,  cotton,  the  metals  and  coal  and  her  bread.  With 
cheerful  nimble  fingers  she  prepares  what  the  world  wants 
and  goes  into  the  world's  markets  and  wins  her  share  of  the 
profits  of  commerce.  No  beggar's  hand  was  shoved  at  us 
in  all  Switzerland.  We  can  not  say  that  of  all  countries  we 
have  visited. 

In  the  splendor  and  luxuriance  of  roses,  Switzerland 
and  Italy  stand  close  to  California. 

Switzerland  abounds  with  the  American  tourist  girl. 


258  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

There  are  two  kinds — an  American  tourist  girl  and  the 
American  tourist  girl ;  of  the  latter  I  speak;  she  of  the  short 
skirt;  confident  in  mien,  of  military  gait;  ready  of  re- 
source; a  present  help  in  the  time  of  need;  using  panto- 
mime where  language  fails;  beloved  and  obeyed  of  hotel 
and  railroad  servants;  she  leads,  others  follow;  the  world 
is  hers,  and  she  is  queen;  she  gets  there;  her  type  is 
numerous. 

June  15th  we  parted  with  Zurich  and  Switzerland  and 
pointed  for  Strasburg  in  Germany,  six  hours  away  by  way 
of  the  Black  Forest.  I  had  expected  to  see  dark,  dense 
masses  of  gigantic  trees  overhanging  the  railroad,  shutting 
out  the  light  of  day  and  extending  from  upland  to  upland, 
away  beyond  the  line  of  vision,  hospitable  only  as  the  home 
of  the  wolf,  the  bear,  and  the  deer.  I  saw  no  such  thing; 
large  stretches  of  timber  there  were,  but  none  that  appeared 
to  be  a  hundred  years  from  the  seed.  Population  was  sparse, 
but  where  they  were  cutting  timber,  an  able-bodied  Maine 
or  Oregon  axe  man  could  carry  off  the  saw  log  on  his  shoul- 
der. Large  tracts,  evidently  under  government  supervision, 
had  been  set  to  forest  trees,  with  the  evident  hope  of  raising 
a  forest  on  land  so  poor  that  to  raise  anything  else  would  be 
hopeless.  The  most  artful  and  conscienceless  real  estate 
agent  could  not  hope  even  to  raise  the  price.  Soil  grew  bet- 
ter and  prospects  more  promising  as  we  approached 
Strasburg. 

The  German  farmer  is  out  of  luck  this  year;  the  winter 
hung  on  later,  the  spring  was  late  and  cold.  When  at  last 
the  crops  were  sown,  a  drouth  came  which  was  broken 
only  two  weeks  ago;  so  wheat  and  oats  are  not  yet  headed 


ZURICH  AND  STRASBURG  259 

and  will  hardly  amount  to  much ;  rye  is  better,  as  it  is  more 
hardy,  but  both  straw  and  heads  are  short;  and  the  hay 
crop,  which  is  now  being  cut,  looks  to  me  very  light  in  that 
part  of  Germany  I  have  seen.  So  serious  is  the  outlook  that 
Emperor  William  has  published  a  letter  recommending  to 
the  landlords  how  charitable  and  desirable  it  would  be  to 
remit  the  rents  of  the  current  year  in  part  or  altogether.  I 
have  noticed  no  published  response  of  the  landlords.  The 
German  farmer's  wife  and  daughters  do  much  of  the  field 
work.  Cows  are  harnessed  and  do  the  work  of  horses  and 
oxen,  even  to  running  a  mowing  machine,  of  which  there 
are  but  few.  This  is  not  general,  but  there  are  numerous 
exceptions. 

Strasburg  is  an  important  and  growing  city;  it  now 
numbers  over  150,000,  while  in  1870,  when  it  came  under 
German  control,  it  numbered  78,000.  Its  military  force  is 
15,000.  The  city  beyond  its  old  gates  is  larger  than  that 
part  within  the  gates,  and  the  new  part  has  broad,  commo- 
dious streets  and  avenues,  all  set  to  shade  trees  and  with 
beautiful,  extensive  and  well-tended  parks,  and  is  a  clean 
city,  with  electric  lights  and  tramways,  and  all  the  public 
utilities  are  owned  by  the  municipality.  Car  fares  are  two 
and  one-half  cents,  but  distances  are  limited  and  there  are 
no  transfers. 

Strasburg  is  old  enough  to  have  ruins,  but  she  reno- 
vates and  repairs,  and  so  keeps  forever  on  her  face  the  look 
of  vigorous  life.  She  has  her  famous  Gothic  cathedral  and 
its  wonderful  clock  which  no  traveler  passes  without  feeling 
he  has  lost  something.  So  often  has  it  been  described  and 
pictured  I  will  not  attempt  it.  On  its  site  has  been  a  church 


26o  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

since  about  the  year  600.  When  fire  or  war  destroyed  it 
they  built  another  on  the  ruins.  The  present  cathedral  was 
begun  in  1 176  and  was  not  completed  until  300  years  after; 
and  owing  to  ravages  of  fire  and  wars,  renovations,  emenda- 
tions and  additions  have  been  going  on  ever  since. 

Modern  Prussia  and  Strasburg  history  are  to  me 
mixed  up  in  a  very  interesting  way.  As  long  ago  as  1631 
France,  because  she  could,  without  cause  and  in  a  time  of 
profound  peace,  seized  Alsace-Lorraine,  in  which  is  Stras- 
burg, and  for  nearly  200  years  held  it.  Prussia,  now  Ger- 
many, in  the  nineteenth  century,  had  three  remarkable 
rulers — Frederick  William  III,  who  died  in  1840;  his  son, 
Wilhelm  I,  who  died  in  1888,  and  the  present  Kaiser  Wil- 
helm  II,  the  grandson  of  two  renowned  rulers,  to  wit :  Wil- 
helm I  on  the  paternal  side,  and  Queen  Victoria  on  the 
mother's  side.  Frederick  William  III  was  king  when 
Napoleon  was  devastating  Europe. 

Prussia  was  then  small.  In  1814  (I  think  it  was)  after 
the  battle  of  Jena,  Prussia  lay  prostrate  at  the  foot  of 
Napoleon.  Terms  of  peace  were  humiliating  and  exacting 
to  the  conquered.  Besides  a  large  annual  tribute,  her  mili- 
tary force  was  limited  to  a  small  number  and  it  seemed  as 
if  Prussia  was  down  never  to  rise;  and  then  the  far-seeing 
wisdom  and  patience  and  endurance  of  her  great  ruler 
became  apparent. 

He  had  a  Chancellor,  or  Prime  Minister  or  Secretary 
of  State,  also  a  great  man  (whose  name  I  can  not  now  re- 
call). Serfdom  then  existed  in  Prussia,  "Sire,"  said  this 
Chancellor,  "how  can  your  soldiers  do  great  deeds  when  they 
are  slaves'?"  By  royal  decree  serfdom  was  at  once  and  for- 


ZURICH  AND  STRASBURG  261 

ever  abolished?  "Sire,"  said  this  great  Chancellor,  "how  can 
your  soldiers  do  brave  deeds  while  they  are  but  boors  and 
their  brains  are  dulled  by  ignorance?"  And  the  royal  de- 
cree went  out  that  every  child  of  Prussia  should  start  in  life 
with  the  even  chance  of  a  fair  education. 

Prussia  was  the  pioneer  of  compulsory  education;  until 
now  the  unlettered  German  is  unknown.  Her  military  force 
was  limited,  but  by  dismissing  one-third  of  her  veterans  each 
year  and  recruiting  a  fresh  third,  it  soon  came  to  pass  that 
the  Prussians  were  a  military  people.  Germany  consisted 
of  a  multitude  of  petty  principalities,  ruled  over  by  petty 
princes.  He  set  himself  the  task  to  consolidate  all  these 
little  States  under  one  government;  and  long  before  his 
death  he  had  accomplished  it.  He  encouraged  manufac- 
tures and  all  the  arts  of  peace.  His  successors,  his  sons, 
Frederick  William  IV  and  Kaiser  Wilhelm  I  emphasized 
their  father's  policy. 

The  generation  of  educated  men,  sons  of  serfs,  was  now 
on.  Meantime,  Napoleon  faded.  France  turned  a  series  of 
political  somersaults  and  another  Bonaparte  was  her  leader. 
Relations  between  France  and  Germany  became  strained 
and  all  France  clamored,  "On  to  Berlin."  The  war  of  1870 
followed.  Germany  had  General  Von  Moltke,  the  ablest 
tactician  of  the  world,  at  the  head  of  her  army,  and  the 
great  Bismarck  at  the  head  of  the  Department  of  State,  and 
when  Kaiser  Wilhelm  I  blew  the  bugle  blast  of  war,  that 
great  nation  of  soldiers  rose  as  a  man,  and  pointing  their 
noses  towards  Paris,  the  German  army  never  stopped,  nor 
were  they  seriously  hindered  until  their  tramp  resounded 
through  the  halls  of  the  Tuileries.  It  is  said  that  the  com- 


262  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

mon  German  soldier  knew  every  highroad  and  lane  through 
France  better  than  French  officers.  Education  had  done  its 
work.  The  educated  brain  behind  the  needle  gun, — this  it 
was  that  won  the  victory.  France  lost  by  that  war  Alsace- 
Lorraine  (of  which  Strasburg  is  the  largest  city)  which  she 
had  stolen  nearly  200  years  before.  The  language  of  Stras- 
burg is  German;  it  is  thoroughly  and  completely  a  German 
city  and  it  is  bustling  with  German  business  and  industry, 
and  its  last  days  are  better  than  ever  before.  It  never  again 
will  be  French. 

Somehow  I  always  like  to  think  of  Prussia  as  having 
got  hot  in  the  collar  over  the  indignities  heaped  on  her  by 
Napoleon,  and  as  having  kept  hot  in  the  collar  for  nearly 
sixty  years,  and  then  through  no  fault  of  hers,  but  through  the 
deliberate  wrong  of  France,  the  opportunity  came  to  get 
even.  It  sort  of  stirs  up  my  soul  with  a  holy  joy  to  think 
how  that  war  of  1870  evened  up  things.  I  don't  think  that 
condition  of  mind  is  exactly  Christian,  but  it  is  very  human. 
Turning  the  other  cheek  to  the  smiter  would  conduce  to 
peace  perhaps,  but  this  I  have  seen  somewhere : 

Striketh  he  your  right  cheek 

Strike  him  not  in  anger  then; 

But  take  a  stout  stick  and  say  to  men, 

"Don't  you  do  that  same  again." 

It  seems  sometimes  as  if  there  is  some  significance  in 
that  verse  (Byron's,  is  it  not*?) 

For  time  at  last  sets  all  things  even; 
And  if  we  do  but  watch  the  hour, 
There  never  yet  was  human  power 
Which  could  evade,  if  unforgiven, 
The  patient  search  and  vigil  long 
Of  him  who  treasures  up  a  wrong. 


ZURICH  AND  STRASBURG  263 

Won't  that  apply  to  nations  as  well  as  men? 

Yesterday  we  visited  the  Royal  Mausoleum.  On  a 
sarcophagus  chiseled  in  pure  Carrara  marble  lay  the  lifesize 
form  of  Frederick  William  III  as  if  he  had  "wrapped  the 
drapery  of  his  couch  about  him  and  lain  down  to  pleasant 
dreams."  Near-by  was  the  beautiful  form  of  his  lovely 
queen,  Louise,  who  died  in  the  perfect  beauty  of  young 
womanhood  aged  34.  One  steps  lightly  fearing  to  waken 
them ;  so  near  and  so  real  seem  the  times  when  they  lived. 

With  love, 

S.  G.  N. 


(Greatness  of  3tto6ern  (Berman? 

BRUSSELS,  June  30. 
My  Dear  Kinsell: 

We  started  for  the  Rhine  from  Strasburg  by  way  of 
Mannheim  and  Frankfort  to  Mayence  (which  they  spell 
Mainz),  there  to  take  the  steamer  for  eight  hours'  trip  to 
Cologne  (which  they  spell  Koln). 

Germany  has  thirty-eight  cities  each  of  over  100,000 
population,  starting  with  Berlin,  the  largest,  1,800,000. 
Besides  there  are  numberless  smaller  cities  and  towns.  The 
country  districts  look  lonesome,  no  buildings  are  on  the 
farms  and  no  fences.  The  farmers  live  in  villages  and  go 
out  daily  to  cultivate  the  land,  sometimes  a  mile  or  more 
away. 

Cologne,  a  city  of  370,000,  has  among  its  antiquities 
its  Gothic  cathedral  which  every  traveler  is  supposed  to, 
visit,  and  which,  from  an  interior  view,  with  its  numerous 
and  massive  pillars  and  lofty  arched  ceilings,  leaves  on  the 
mind  the  impress  of  solemnity,  durability  and  substantiality 
so  characteristic  of  Gothic  church  architecture.  But  the 
antiquated  buildings  of  Cologne,  whether  public  or  private, 
are  kept  renovated  and  repaired,  so  one  can  hardly  believe 
the  stories  of  their  age.  The  older  part  of  the  city  has  nar- 
row crooked  streets,  along  which  creep  the  street  cars,  leav- 
ing little  room  for  footmen  or  carriages.  But  recent  years 
have  given  the  city  a  larger  growth,  so  now,  far  and  away, 
the  larger  part  of  the  city  stretches  beyond  the  old  city  gates 


THE  GREATNESS  OF  MODERN  GERMANY      265 

and  is  built  on  the  generous  plan  of  wide  streets  flanked  by 
wide  sidewalks  and  charming  shade  trees ;  and  for  plenitude 
and  beauty  of  her  public  parks  Cologne,  and,  in  fact,  all 
German  cities  I  have  seen  are  an  example  worthy  of  imita- 
tion the  world  over,  and  especially  by  every  town  and  city 
of  California. 

One  of  the  largest  parks  is  known  as  the  Orangerie.  It 
is  bounteous  in  shade  and  bright  in  its  abundance  of  flowers 
and  green  grass  and  plentiful  in  seats  and  full  of  people  of 
all  conditions  and  ages  (we  saw  it  Sunday).  No  warn- 
ings to  "Keep  off  the  Grass,"  or  "Don't  Touch  the 
Flowers."  It  seems  as  if  the  babies  were  born  with  the 
sense  to  let  things  alone.  (Don't  you  believe  there  is 
such  a  thing?)  Still,  there  is  no  threatening  policeman  in 
sight.  The  Orangerie  consists  of  several  hundred  acres,  and 
gets  its  name  from  a  gift  of  a  tract  with  buildings  and  gar- 
dens contributed  by  a  duke,  in  which  were,  say,  fifty  orange 
trees  set  in  tubs  wheeled  under  cover  in  winter  and  wheeled 
out  to  the  air  in  summer.  Apparently  they  are  twenty  or 
thirty  years  old  and  are  now  in  blossom,  at  the  same  time 
holding  last  year's  fruit,  so  small  and  measly  that  one  of 
our  healthy,  vigorous  Antelope  orange  trees  would  faint 
away  to  look  at  them.  But  it  is  a  magnificent  park 
with  walks  and  drives  and  lakes  worthy  of  a  great  city.  On 
another  side  of  the  city  is  another  immense  lovely  wooded 
park,  to  which  the  city,  three  years  ago,  added  580  acres. 
Then  all  through  the  city  we  find  every  now  and  then  a  platz 
whence  streets  radiate,  and  these  are  parks,  and  street  cars 
go  around  them. 


266  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

Years  and  years  ago  I  read  that  Cologne  was  a  city 
of  2,ooo  smells.  They  certainly  are  sweet  smells,  for  it  is 
a  clean  city  and  is  sweet  to  the  smell. 

Now,  I  have  said  not  a  word  concerning  the  eight 
hours'  ride  down  the  Rhine.  There  were  bold  banks  flank- 
ing the  river,  terraced  and  set  to  vines ;  towns  with  a  multi- 
tude of  smoke-stacks;  quarries  whence  come  the  brown  sand- 
stone which  builds  German  cities,  and  occasional  old  ruined 
castles,  relics  of  an  age  when  might  made  right,  and  he  was 
best  who  was  strongest;  wooded  hills;  an  occasional  stretch- 
ing away  of  the  landscape  over  spreading  plains  and  blue 
distant  mountains.  But  the  essence  of  it  all  is  that  thrill  of 
feeling,  that  beatitude  of  sentiment  (is  that  a  good  word?) 
which  comes  to  one — how  can  you  describe  that"?  As  well 
picture  what  one  feels  whose  blood  has  thrilled  and 
tingled  with  the  drinking  of  a  glass  of  rare  old  wine.  The 
experience  is  personal.  It  is  beyond  the  range  of 
description. 

A  Belgian  company  owned  the  street-car  system  of 
Cologne — strictly  horse  cars.  Last  fall  the  city  bought  it 
and  now  she  owns  all  her  public  utilities.  At  present, 
city  streets  are  torn  and  ragged;  this  city  is  being  born  again. 
Soon  electricity  will  move  every  car. 

Thence  we  went  to  Berlin,  the  capital  of  the  great 
German  Empire.  It  is  a  city  great  in  population,  in 
commerce,  in  manufactures,  in  art,  science,  and  learning; 
great  in  politics,  and  one  of  the  world's  centers  of  capital. 
Street-car  service,  mostly  electric,  furnishes  rapid  service — 
short  rides  2  cents,  longer  4  cents.  A  system  of  omnibuses 
furnishes  a  ride  across  the  city  for  2  cents;  these  are  owned 


THE  GREATNESS  OF  MODERN  GERMANY      267 

by  private  capital,  street  cars  by  the  city.  She  owns  as  well 
her  lights  and  water.  The  city  covers  300  square  miles.  In 
the  old  town  are  the  narrow  streets,  and  it  comprises  but  a 
small  part  of  the  city. 

The  modern  city  is  justly  celebrated  for  its  broad, 
shady  streets,  for  its  solid  massive  buildings,  for  the  multi- 
tude and  magnitude  of  its  public  parks  and  for  the  great 
number  of  its  broad  and  stately  avenues.  "Unter  den  Lin- 
den" is  one  of  these,  running  nearly  east  and  west  in  the 
central  part  of  the  city,  about  200  feet  wide.  On  the  north 
side  is  a  wide  sidewalk,  then  a  paved  carriage-way,  then  a 
row  of  trees,  then  a  space  for  horseback  riders,  then  a  row 
of  trees,  then  a  broad  promenade  for  footmen,  then  another 
row  of  trees,  then  a  wide  bicycle  path,  then  a  carriage  drive, 
another  row  of  trees,  and  last  the  sidewalk  on  the  south  side. 
The  trees  are  all  lindens,  and  numerous  seats  flank  the  prom- 
enade. Many  new  avenues  of  this  class  have  sprung  up  of 
late,  but  the  trees  are  not  so  well  matured.  In  the  newer 
part  of  the  city  it  is  not  uncommon  to  ride  through  a  long 
stretch  of  street  where  every  window  is  of  plate  glass. 
Among  other  places  we  visited  the  Konigl  Marstal,  or  Royal 
Stables.  It  is  a  solid  sandstone,  four-story  building. 

We  were  shown  through  in  company  with  fifteen  or 
twenty  Germans,  and  our  guide  was  a  German  officer  who 
spoke  no  English.  On  the  first  and  second  floors  were 
horses — say  150 — certainly  handsome;  some  having  the 
points  of  runners,  some  having  trotting  points,  some  fine 
carriage  horses  and  some  with  the  short  backs  and  good 
muscles  of  saddle  horses,  and  all  so  well  groomed  and  stalled 
that  they  must  have  felt  that  their  lines  as  horses  had  fallen 


268  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

in  pleasant  places.  They  seemed  worthy  of  a  king's  stable. 
The  name  and  birthplace  of  each  was  posted  at  the  head  of 
the  stall.  "Onkel  Sam"  and  "Jonathan"  were  marked  as 
from  America.  Part  of  the  second,  and  the  third  and 
fourth  floors  contained  the  collection  of  royal  harness,  sad- 
dles, bridles,  wagons,  coaches,  carriages,  and  sleighs  used 
by  royalty  for  the  last  250  years — from  the  old  coach  with 
red  running  gear  and  dished  wheels  that  bore  Frederick  the 
Great  over  the  sandy  plains  of  Germany,  1 25  years  ago,  to 
the  up-to-date  modern  carriage  with  rubber-tired  wheels. 
Then  there  was  the  garden  wagon  of  the  beautiful  Queen 
Louise  (who  died  in  1810),  so  low  she  couldn't  fall  out, 
with  wheels  a  foot  in  diameter  and  eight  inches  across  the 
face,  and  tired  with  sole  leather,  looking  somewhat  like  the 
small  wheels  of  a  Fresno  vineyard  truck. 

And  then  there  were  the  sleighs,  ancient  and  modern, 
all  heavy,  even  the  lightest  and  most  modern,  almost 
clumsy.  I  have  seen  nothing  in  royal  stables  or  elsewhere 
to  vie  with  the  dainty,  handsome,  serviceable  American 
buggy;  nor  anything  in  the  royal  collection  that  can  com- 
pare with  the  airy,  light,  beautiful  American  cutter.  And 
I  count  there  is  many  an  American  youth,  in  company  with 
his  best  girl,  behind  a  standard-bred  American  trotter  in  the 
ideal  American  buggy  or  cutter,  who  has  felt  a  satisfaction 
that  royalty  can  not  supply;  and  if  Kaiser  Wilhelm  could 
once  experience  that  satisfaction  he  would  give  half  his 
kingdom  to  possess  it  evermore. 

In  coming  to  Berlin  we  came  through  Essen,  now  a 
city  of  about  120,000.  It  has  grown  and  become  promi- 
nent lately.  About  fifty  years  ago  a  good,  honest,  plodding 


THE  GREATNESS  OF  MODERN  GERMANY      269 

German  had  a  foundry  and  a  modest  machine  shop  there, 
and  among  those  who  knew  him  he  was  celebrated  for  devis- 
ing new  machinery.  He  had  a  son  whom  he  raised  to  the 
same  business  and  whom  he  educated  and  who  became 
learned  in  the  chemistry  of  iron  and  steel  and  their  possi- 
bilities, and  whose  mind  ran  to  invention  and  investigation. 
Among  other  things  he  was  the  inventor  of  the  Krupp 
cannon.  Then  kings  wanted  him  and  bowed  down  to  him. 
He  invented  many  other  valuable  things,  and  the  Krupp 
works  grew,  and  now  Essen  bristles  with  smoke-stacks,  and 
Herr  Krupp  employs  over  10,000  men. 

A  few  days  ago  Mme.  Bernhardt  visited  the  British 
Parliament.  In  the  rush  of  titled  people  to  pay  their  re- 
spects to  that  great  woman,  the  House  of  Lords  became  prac- 
tically deserted.  So,  in  the  last  analysis,  it  is  genius  that 
wears  the  crown. 

We  spent  the  day  at  Potsdam,  the  royal  residence  for 
several  generations,  an  island  fifteen  miles  away,  much  of 
which  has  been  filled  in  and  redeemed  from  the  water,  hav- 
ing a  population  of  60,000,  and  such  magnificent  great 
parks  and  fine  drives.  It  was  founded  225  years  ago,  but  it 
was  Frederick  the  Great  (1740  to  1786)  who  gave  it  its 
great  splendor.  He  filled  in  lakes  and  swamps  and 
redeemed  many  hundreds  of  acres  of  land,  and  our  driver 
pointed  with  pride  to  a  little  octagonal  building  where  he 
claimed  Frederick  the  Great  retired  to  smoke  his  pipe  while 
the  work  was  going  on.  He  built  the  Sanssaucci  Palace,  now 
kept  as  a  museum  of  royal  antiquities,  which  we  visited. 

Of  all  past  German  royalty  he  is  the  one  who  holds 
the  affections  of  the  common  people  and  numberless  are  the 


270  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

folklore  stories  concerning  him.  Here  is  one:  A  favorite 
royal  fad  was  to  conceal  his  identity.  Once  he  dressed  in 
peasant's  garb  and  wandered  into  an  inn  where  were  several 
soldiers  drinking  beer.  One  soldier  wanted  more  beer  than 
he  could  pay  for,  so  pawned  his  sword.  He  went  to  his 
quarters,  got  a  piece  of  pine,  whittled  out  a  sword,  stained 
it  to  the  color  of  his  sword  and  took  the  chances. 

Next  morning  his  regiment  was  called  out  for  review. 
The  king  went  down  the  line  examining  each  soldier's  arms 
and  accouterments.  Next  the  soldier  with  the  wooden 
sword  was  one  with  the  slightest  bit  of  rust  on  a  button. 
Frederick  the  Great  was  enraged  and  commanded  him  to 
stand  out  from  the  ranks.  Turning  to  him  with  the 
wooden  sword  he  said:  "Draw  your  sword  and  cut  off  this 
unworthy  soldier's  head."  The  heart  of  the  soldier  nearly 
ceased  to  beat,  but  his  wit  saved  him.  Turning  his  face  to 
the  sky,  he  said,  "God  in  heaven !  Turn  my  sword  to  wood 
that  I  may  save  the  life  of  this  innocent  man."  He  drew 
his  sword,  and  behold!  it  was  wood.  The  king  said:  "Such 
wit  can  earn  distinction  in  other  lines  than  in  the  ranks.  I 
promote  you  to  a  position  worthy  of  your  talent.  Your 
sword  is  at  the  inn.  Go,  redeem  it."  And  he  gave  him  a 
coin  for  that  purpose. 

Another.  The  king  once  disguised  himself  as  a  beggar 
and  went  to  the  humble  home  of  a  miller  who  owned  a  wind- 
mill and  ground  grain  for  a  living.  He  begged  for  some- 
thing to  eat.  The  miller  was  disposed  to  be  ungracious,  but 
his  wife  said,  "Feed  him."  After  eating  he  complained 
that  it  was  late  and  cold  and  he  wanted  to  sleep  on  the  floor 
in  the  miller's  kitchen,  but  the  miller,  wishing  to  rid  himself 


THE  GREATNESS  OF  MODERN  GERMANY      271 

of  the  beggar,  said:  "Yes,  I  would  keep  you,  but  I  have 
three  sons,  one  is  a  robber  and  a  thief  and  one  is  a  murderer 
and  one  is  a  beggar,  and  if  they  come  home  I  fear  for  your 
safety." 

"Oh,"  said  the  king,  "I  never  did  any  person  harm;  I 
have  not  an  enemy  in  the  world;  I  do  not  fear." 

So  the  king  stayed  and  slept  upon  the  floor  with  the 
admonition  from  the  miller  not  to  snore  too  loudly.  Early 
the  next  morning  the  king  departed. 

The  wickedness  of  the  miller's  sons  worried  the  king, 
and  in  his  mind  he  was  devising  plans  for  their  reform. 
Finally  he  sent  for  the  miller,  who  came. 

Said  the  king :  "I  hear  you  have  three  very  wicked  sons 
and  I  sent  for  you  that  we  might  devise  some  plan  for  their 
reform." 

"I  have  three  wicked  sons!  Not  I,"  said  the  miller. 
"I  have  three  sons,  indeed,  but  they  are  good  sons,  of  whom 
I  am  very  proud.  By  God's  help  they  were  educated,  sire, 
at  your  university." 

"But,"  said  the  king,  "a  poor  beggar  told  me  that  he 
slept  at  your  house  not  long  since  and  you  told  him  with 
your  own  mouth  that  you  had  three  wicked  sons;  one  was 
a  robber  and  a  thief,  one  a  murderer  and  one  a  beggar." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  miller.  "I  told  the  beggar  that  to 
frighten  him  and  get  rid  of  him,  and  in  one  sense  it  was  true. 
My  oldest  son  is  the  best  lawyer  in  Berlin  and  he  takes  his 
fees  from  him  who  pays  the  most,  and  my  second  son  is  a 
great  doctor  and  sometimes  I  suppose  he  makes  mistakes  and 
death  follows,  and  my  youngest  son  is  a  priest  and  is  for- 
ever begging  for  the  church." 


272  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

To  a  monarch  of  the  temperament  of  Frederick  the 
Great  this  was  pleasing. 

Within  sight  of  the  palace,  and  only  a  street  separat- 
ing it  from  the  palace  grounds,  stood  the  miller's  plat  of 
ground  and  the  windmill.  The  king  wanted  to  purchase  it 
and  offered  a  good  house  and  an  annuity  that  would  keep 
him  all  his  days.  But  the  miller  would  not  sell.  We  saw 
the  windmill,  still  kept  in  good  repair  and  shown  to  visitors 
as  "The  windmill  the  king  could  not  buy."  Thus  came 
immortality  to  the  miller. 

Berlin  is  a  wonderful  city  and  Germany  a  wonderful 
country.  Her  natural  resources  are  wonderful;  stone,  ce- 
ment, and  lime  for  building;  coal  fields  practically  inex- 
haustible; a  seacoast  that  gives  her  access  to  the  markets  of 
the  world;  a  people  inventive  and  industrious;  it  ought  to 
be  a  great  nation.  For  thirty  years  now  the  statesmanship 
of  Germany  has  been  turned  to  the  problem  of  making  Ger- 
many a  great  industrial  power.  And  if  anybody  has  im- 
bibed the  idea  that  the  present  Kaiser,  the  German  execu- 
tive, is  domineering  and  dictatorial  and  takes  no  heed  of 
public  sentiment,  don't  let  him  be  misled  by  any  such  im- 
pression. No  President  of  the  United  States  ever  watched 
with  closer  interest  the  voice  of  the  people  and  the  press  and 
kept  his  finger  on  the  public  pulse  with  the  desire  to  keep  his 
administration  along  the  line  of  public  thought,  than  does  the 
Kaiser.  It  is  not  he  who  fights  public  sentiment,  but  he  who 
educates,  leads,  and  controls  it,  who  is  great,  and  therein  is 
the  greatness  of  the  Kaiser. 

And  another  false  conception  let  us  drop,  to  wit :  that 
there  is  friction  between  the  civil  and  the  military;  there  is 


THE  GREATNESS  OF  MODERN  GERMANY      273 

nothing  in  it.  The  German  is  loyal  to  his  country  and  his 
king,  and  he  ought  to  be;  his  country  and  his  king  are 
worthy  of  his  devotion. 

There  has  been  great  industrial  expansion  in  Germany 
in  the  later  years.  Manufacturers  have  made  money  in 
plenty  and,  like  our  own  country,  it  has  begotten  specula- 
tion. Extension  of  business  and  new  business  has  been  and 
is  being  carried  on  with  borrowed  capital.  Of  course,  this 
competition  raises  the  price  of  labor  and  raw  material,  and 
when  notes  fall  due  and  goods  fail  of  a  market,  then  comes 
the  reaction  and  failures  follow.  Many  mortgage  banks 
here  last  fall  found  themselves  in  a  dangerous  corner.  The 
Leipziger  Bank  of  Saxony,  with  a  capital  of  $12,000,000, 
the  largest  bank  in  Germany  outside  of  Berlin,  was  a  great 
promoter  of  industrial  enterprises.  Through  lack  of  cau- 
tion it  found  itself  compelled  to  suspend  last  week.  Finan- 
cially Germany  is  holding  her  breath,  asking  what  next?  I 
hope  she  may  avoid  the  American  experiences  of  fifteen 
years  ago. 

Very  truly  yours, 

STEPH.  G.  NYE. 


See  "parts 

PARIS,  July  8. 
Dear  Ones  in  California: 

In  a  thunderstorm,  with  hailstones  and  lightning  that 
damaged  vines  and  vegetation  to  a  half  million  francs; 
knocked  out  a  country  church,  killed  several  people  and 
many  horses  and  cattle  in  France,  we  approached  Paris — a 
French  village  of  two  and  a  half  millions.  But  the  sunset 
rays  shone  brightly  and  clouds  had  fled  when  we  reached 
the  city.  Paris  has  been  written  up  so  often  and  described 
so  minutely  that  every  one  is  acquainted  with  it,  and  what 
remains  for  me  is  to  speak  of  something  I  have  not  seen  in 
print. 

The  Frenchman  is  polite;  but  behind  it  all  it  is  easy 
to  detect  his  opinion  that  it  was  the  mistake  of  your  life  that 
you  failed  to  be  born  in  France.  Not  knowing  the  language 
one  is  like  a  soldier  without  horse,  sword  or  gun.  We  called 
a  cab  and  told  the  driver  to  go  to  the  Luxembourg  Palace. 
You  should  have  seen  that  face  of  idiotic  vacancy.  The 
order  was  repeated  with  increased  emphasis.  Then  repeated 
again.  Light  dawned  at  last.  "Ah,  Pallay  du  Loosam- 
boor,"  and  the  whip  came  down  on  his  bony  steed  and  we 
were  soon  there.  What  will  you  do  with  a  people  who  call 
Louvre  Loov,  and  Versailles  Versi1?  That  sort  of  thing 
we  had  to  wrestle  with  day  by  day  and  with  all  the  permu- 
tations possible. 

We  reached  Paris  close  to  the  4th  of  July,  and  the 
American  Chamber  of  Commerce  had  arranged  to  celebrate 


TEN   DAYS   TO   SEE  PARIS  275 

the  day  by  a  dinner  at  the  new  Hotel  d'Orsay.  Of  course, 
as  soon  as  the  committee  of  arrangements  learned  we  were 
in  town,  we  got  a  pressing  invitation  to  the  dinner.  The 
financial  proposition  accompanying  the  invitation — well 
that's  another  story.  We  were  there  with  something  over 
3,000  others.  The  president  of  the  chamber  presided.  Gen- 
eral Porter,  American  ambassador,  sat  at  the  right,  Senator 
Depew  on  the  left,  Colonel  Gowdy,  American  consul,  near- 
by, and  numerous  other  foreign  ministers,  consuls  and  mem- 
bers of  the  French  parliament  on  the  raised  dais — the  place 
of  honor. 

French  soldiers  in  scarlet  garb  guarded  around,  and  a 
sort  of  halo  encircled  all.  After  dinner,  then  the  post-pran- 
dial fireworks.  General  Porter  made  an  address,  solid,  logi- 
cal, and  of  note — one  which  pronounced  him  the  fit  rep- 
resentative of  the  United  States  to  the  great  Republic  of 
France.  Of  course  we  all  expected  good  things  of  Senator 
Depew,  but  on  this  occasion  he  fairly  outdid  himself.  Wit, 
wisdom,  logic,  argument,  and  oratory  united  to  please,  con- 
vince and  stir  the  blood  of  us  all;  and  somehow  we  went 
away,  to  thank  God  for  American  citizenship.  So  we  didn't 
miss  our  4th  of  July  because  we  were  outside  of  American 
lines. 

The  locomotion  of  Paris  is  accomplished  in  many  ways. 
The  steam  and  gasoline  engine,  the  electric  train,  the  om- 
nibus, the  cab,  the  automobile  (and  their  forms  are  multi- 
tude, their  numbers  numberless),  all  these  are  agencies  to 
move  the  people  who  do  not  work;  and  they  coexist  on  the 
same  street.  The  footman  must  "watch  out" ;  if  in  crossing 
a  street  he  is  "knocked"  out,  it  is  a  prima  facie  case  of 


276  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

criminal  negligence,  subjecting  him  to  punishment;  and  his 
justification  must  be  strong  and  complete  or  he  will  get  it. 

Take  the  broad  avenue  de  1'  Opera,  for  instance,  filled 
with  every  sort  of  vehicle  and  a  solid  moving  mass  as  one 
looks  down  upon  it,  how  the  great  bulk  squirms  and  wiggles 
and  twists,  but  still  makes  commendable  progress  and  all 
escape  unharmed.  Whether  bus  or  train  the  fare  is  2  cents 
for  about  a  mile  and  a  half  of  travel.  Cab  to  any  place  in 
the  city  is  5  cents;  per  hour  50  cents.  So  it  is  cheaper  to 
ride  than  go  afoot.  All  omnibuses  and  cars  are  two-storied 
and  the  upper  story  is  the  choice,  save  in  rain.  The  omnibus 
horse  deserves  mention.  He  is  of  the  Norman  breed,  either 
gray  or  black,  the  same  that  for  so  many  years  was  the 
French  diligence  horse  in  the  old  days  before  railroads,  when 
the  breeding  of  coach  stock  was  a  government  affair.  Of 
fine  form  and  limb,  full  of  courage,  weighing  from  1,400  to 
1,600  pounds,  he  is  handsome  and  far  more  speedy  than  his 
weight  would  suggest.  Rosa  Bonheur's  great  painting,  The 
Horse  Fair  (I  saw  it  the  other  day  in  the  National  Art  Gal- 
lery, London),  of  which  there  are  many  engravings,  shows 
how  he  looks,  save  that  omnibus  service  has  taken  out  the 
spirit  and  fire,  so  apparent  in  the  painting.  Take  three  great 
stallions  abreast  in  front  of  an  omnibus  carrying  thirty-two 
passengers  seated — they  pull  the  load  hour  after  hour  with 
an  energy  and  speed  quite  admirable. 

I  watched  the  retail  fruit  and  vegetable  market  to  com- 
pare with  Oakland.  All  are  sold  by  the  kilogramme,  elided 
to  kilo,  but  reduced  to  the  pound  I  found  the  following 
prices  in  cents  per  pound:  Peas  in  pod,  2.2$c. ;  beans, 
string,  2.yc.;  white  currants,  extra,  gc.;  peaches,  3  to  QC.; 


TEN  DAYS   TO   SEE  PARIS  277 

apricots,  7.250.;  gooseberries,  3.60.;  cherries,  7.250.;  pota- 
toes, 2C. 

I  saw  no  American  food  products  on  sale  in  Paris  save 
Quaker  oats  and  Chicago  hams.  The  oats  are  on  sale  and 
advertised  in  every  city  of  Europe  I  have  seen.  In  Rotter- 
dam they  spell  it  with  a  k,  thus,  "kwaker." 

The  Frenchman  has  a  peculiar  temperament  which 
shows  perhaps  most  conspicuously  in  his  political  history. 
Voluble,  excitable,  impatient  of  restraint,  when  wrong  is  ap- 
parent, he  has  not  the  patience  to  wait  the  course  of  events 
and  reform  the  wrong,  but  explodes,  hangs  the  wrongdoer, 
and  if  thereafter  finds  he  has  made  a  mistake  and  hanged  the 
wrong  man,  he  cannonizes  the  hangee  and  another  saint  is 
added  to  the  French  calendar.  St.  Denis  is  their  patron 
saint;  there  was  a  miracle  in  his  case.  He  was  beheaded,  but 
he  had  the  fortitude  to  pick  up  his  head  and  trot  along  the 
highway  with  it  in  his  hands  for  nine  miles  before  yielding 
his  life  entirely;  and  on  the  spot  where  he  finally  gave  it  up 
the  great  church  of  St.  Denis  was  built.  In  the  gallery  of 
the  Louvre  I  saw  a  painting  showing  the  headless  saint  pick- 
ing up  his  own  head. 

Permit  me  to  criticize.  I  should  say  let  the  artist  hang 
instead  of  his  picture. 

Look  at  Joan  of  Arc.  When  the  Gallic  arms  met  noth- 
ing but  disaster,  that  peasant  girl  led  the  victory.  They 
called  her  an  angel.  Soon  they  called  her  a  witch  and 
roasted  her.  Thereafter  they  repented  and  she  is  now  a 
saint;  her  painting  is  in  the  gallery  at  Versailles,  and  her 
statue  is  in  marble,  but  she  was  dead  enough  long  before. 


278  LETTERS  OF  TRAVEL 

In  1789,  not  content  with  the  government  of  Louis 
XVI  and  too  impatient  to  await  the  reforms  that  come  with 
time,  they  destroyed  the  Bastile,  threw  monarchy  overboard, 
caught  the  king  as  he  was  escaping,  brought  him  back  and 
made  him  swear  fealty  to  the  new  government,  later  on 
beheading  him,  and  a  few  months  later  Queen  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, .and  when  beheading  began,  it  seemed  as  if  it  would 
never  stop  until  none  were  left  to  behead.  Now,  every  year 
on  the  14th  of  July  Paris  celebrates  the  fall  of  the  Bastile. 
It  is  the  Frenchman's  4th  of  July.  And  if  the  servant  girls 
and  the  aproned  waiters  could  not  dance  all  the  night  of  the 
14th  in  public  squares  and  parks  and  boulevards  in  the  open 
air  there  would  be  another  revolution. 

Last  year  was  the  exposition.  It  was  a  great 
stimulus  to  the  city.  Now,  that  it  is  over,  Paris  is  in 
the  condition  of  a  man  who  has  made  a  night  of  it;  has  a 
"head  on,"  wants  cooling  drinks,  but  is  not  doing  business. 
So  Paris  this  year  is  commercially  dull.  Public  finances  are 
not  plentiful  and  appropriations  for  the  national  holiday 
were  scant,  but  the  servant  class  had  the  open-air  dance,  and 
revolution  is  averted.  The  Paris  correspondent  of  the 
"London  Telegraph"  avers  that  business  in  France  is  at  a 
dead  standstill,  save  that  American  capital  is  picking  up 
what  few  franchises  there  are  that  have  money  in  sight. 

But  I  digress.  What  has  that  to  do  with  the  explosive 
character  of  the  Frenchman*?  France  changed  from  mon- 
archy to  republic,  then  to  monarchy,  then  back  again  to 
republic,  where  she  now  is,  and  has  been  for  thirty  years,  and 
all  these  changes  within  a  hundred  years.  But  let  us  hope 


TEN   DAYS   TO   SEE  PARIS  279 

and  pray  that  with  this  longest  period  of  self-government 
France  has  ever  known,  the  republic  has  come  to  stay. 

Tuileries!  What  does  it  mean*?  A  tile  bakery  or 
brick  yard.  But  in  1564  royalty  got  hold  of  it  and  built  a 
palace  there.  It  was  called  Palais  des  Tuileries  and  has  so 
remained.  It  was  the  occasional  royal  residence  up  to  the 
revolution  of  1789.  Napoleon  made  this  his  habitual  resi- 
dence. So  did  Louis  XVIII,  Louis  Philippe  and  the  last 
Napoleon.  After  the  German  war  and  the  commune  took 
possession  of  Paris,  something  had  to  be  destroyed,  and  this 
palace  fell  and  has  never  been  rebuilt.  But  the  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries,  with  the  great  groves  of  noble  trees,  the  broad 
avenues  and  beds  of  beautiful  flowers,  the  fountains  and 
lakes,  are  for  the  public,  and  this  is  the  most  popular  prome- 
nade in  Paris.  Baby  buggies,  small  children  and  nurse- 
maids in  profusion. 

We  visited  Versailles,  fifteen  miles  out  of  Paris.  It 
numbers  about  55,000.  The  palace  and  the  thousands  of 
acres  of  forest  and  groves  and  lawns  and  gardens  and  foun- 
tains and  lakes  belonging  to  it  are  public  property,  cared  for 
at  public  expense  and  open  to  the  great  public.  Louis  XIV 
started  it  in  the  seventeenth  century  for  a  royal  residence, 
and  spent  on  it  $200,000,000.  At  one  time  there  were  em- 
ployed 36,000  men  and  6,000  horses,  and  still  it  took  a 
hundred  years  of  that  sort  of  extravagance  before  the  French 
people  reached  the  point  of  revolution.  Were  they  so  very 
mercurial  after  all  ?  Versailles  witnessed  the  luster  of  Louis 
XIV,  the  decadence  of  Louis  XV,  and  the  shame  of  Madame 
Pompadour,  and  the  palace  was  sacked  by  a  mob  in  1789. 
It  never  has  been  a  favorite  royal  residence,  and  now  is  a 


280  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

national  picture  gallery  devoted  almost  entirely  to  paintings 
illustrative  of  French  history. 

Versailles  was  the  headquarters  of  King  William  I  of 
Prussia  from  September,  1870,  to  March,  1871,  and  the  art 
gallery  was  used  as  a  Prussian  military  hospital;  the  pic- 
tures having  been  carefully  covered.  One  large  well- 
lighted  room  was  given  up  to  paintings  of  the  first  Napo- 
leon. One  painting  represented  Napoleon  on  horseback  re- 
viewing his  troops  just  before  the  battle  of  Jena;  that  his- 
toric conflict  that  lay  Prussia  prostrate  at  the  feet  of  the 
Corsican.  Somehow,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  eternal  fitness 
of  things  required  a  companion  picture  showing  Kaiser 
William's  review  of  his  troops  after  the  battle  of  Sedan  in 
the  spacious  grounds  of  Versailles.  However,  I  don't  know 
that  we  ought  to  rub  it  in  on  the  Frenchman.  Why  should 
the  Gaul  of  today  suffer  contumely  because  of  the  brigand- 
age of  the  first  Napoleon  *?  Yet  from  ancient  times  it  hath 
been  said  that  He  "visiteth  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  their 
children  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation."  Notwith- 
standing the  doctrine  of  forgiveness,  unregenerate  human 
nature  sort  of  thrills  with  a  grim,  wicked  satisfaction  over 
this  battledore  and  shuttlecock  game  of  nations. 

"The  mills  of  the  gods  grind  slowly,  yet  they  grind 
exceeding  small." 

Paris  is  a  beautiful  city  and  clean.  I  have  read  that 
the  building  and  painting  of  houses  were  under  police  super- 
vision to  secure  uniformity.  It  is  not  true.  There  is  no  more 
uniformity  than  in  any  other  city.  But  it  has  more  large 
parks  and  small  ones  and  public  squares  and  spots  for  trees, 
one  or  more,  than  any  we  have  seen;  more  museums,  art 


TEN  DAYS   TO   SEE  PARIS  281 

galleries,  palaces  and  such,  and  all  are  free.  The  govern- 
ment supports  them  all.  Even  theatres  and  opera  houses 
are  subsidized,  so  tickets  are  cheap.  All  these  things  belong 
to  the  public  and  the  public  pays  the  fiddler.  Every  induce- 
ment is  given  to  lure  the  tourist  there.  At  the  Jardine  des 
Plants  or  Botanical  Gardens  every  summer  is  a  course  of 
scientific  lectures,  free,  by  the  world's  best  scientists  for  the 
benefit  of  tourists  and  known  as  the  tourists'  course.  Is  it 
any  wonder  that  France  has  to  invent  new  names  for  things 
so  as  to  add  to  the  taxable  list^  A  French  statesman  once 
defined  taxation  to  be  the  art  of  plucking  from  the  goose  the 
most  feathers  with  the  least  squawking.  The  squawking  is 
not  insignificant,  but  it  takes  many  feathers. 

We  did  not  go  to  see  the  graves  of  Abelard  and 
Heloise — Mark  Twain  eternally  wiped  out  all  the  glamour 
and  romance  from  that  ancient  story  of  passion  and  lust  and 
put  them  on  their  proper  pedestal — away  down.  (See  "In- 
nocents Abroad.")  We  saw  the  Hotel  des  Invalides  or 
Soldiers'  Home,  with  its  spacious,  magnificent  grounds 
and  under  the  dome  of  which,  in  the  great  mahogany-colored 
sarcophagus  of  reddish-brown  Finland  granite  weighing 
sixty-seven  tons  rest  the  ashes  of  Napoleon,  and  the  num- 
berless wonders  of  military  art  and  science  there  collected: 
the  Bois  de  Bologne,  a  park  of  2,250  acres,  where  every 
afternoon,  turn  out  the  most  gorgeous  equipages  of  Paris, 
and  where  none  are  so  poor  that  they  are  debarred  from 
wandering  through  the  beautiful  grounds  and  looking  on; 
the  avenue  des  Champs  Elysees;  Fontainebleau,  with  its 
palace,  gardens,  lakes  and  drives,  and  its  adjoining  great 
forest  of  42,500  acres  fifty  miles  in  circumference,  the 


282  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

Gobelin  Tapestry  factory,  Notre  Dame,  the  Trocadero,  the 
boulevards  and  the  thousand  other  things.  Why  spoil 
paper  and  waste  ink  where  myriads  of  others  have  done  the 
same? 

Ten  days  we  gave  to  Paris.  It  is  a  great  book.  We 
read  a  page  of  the  introduction;  the  rest  is  to  be  studied,  if 
at  all,  at  some  other  time  or  in  some  other  way. 

With  love, 

S.  G.  NYE. 


Unconventional  Views  of  ~2)utcl) 


Dear  Children:  LONDON,  July  13. 

This  letter  concerns  something  we  saw  of  Holland  and 
Belgium.  The  country  part,  which  would  have  for  me 
the  strongest  attraction,  we  know  nothing  of  save  such 
glimpses  as  were  revealed  from  the  car  window  of  an  ex- 
press train.  It  looks  as  if  all  this  country,  from  the  Black 
Forest  away  to  the  North  Sea,  at  no  very  distant  geological 
date  (say  a  million  or  two  of  years  ago)  was  the  bottom  of 
the  sea.  I  speak  only  of  the  country  we  saw  ;  so  much  of  it 
poor  sand  without  soil  to  hold  it  together;  more  of  it  light 
sandy  loam,  capable  of  successful  cultivation.  In  depressed 
spots  are  vegetable  deposits  forming  peatbeds.  The  poorest 
spots  wisely  are  devoted  to  timber  culture  and  so  much  of 
it  is  set  to  pines.  When  nature  tries  to  hide  her  nakedness 
and  barrenness  she  always  begins  with  the  pine,  and  when, 
after  a  million  of  years  or  so,  the  pine  needles  have  fallen 
and  decayed  and  finally  formed  a  more  generous  soil,  she 
brings  the  beech  and  the  oak,  which  pronounce  it  the  fit 
habitation  of  man.  Nature  has  been  forestalled  here  in 
much  of  the  sandy  plains,  by  a  million  years  or  so,  by  the 
advent  of  the  human  race,  who  have  learned  by  observation 
and  experience  nature's  methods,  and  are  now  exercising 
human  ingenuity  to  help  her  out. 

The  extent  of  the  forests  of  Germany,  Holland  and 
Belgium  to  me  is  a  revelation.  I  doubt  if  the  State  of  New 
York  has  so  large  a  proportion  of  its  surface  covered  by  for- 


284  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

est.  The  greater  part  of  it  seems  to  have  been  planted  in 
recent  times;  none  older  than  five  hundred  years  and  the 
planting  now  goes  on.  A  more  generous  soil  prevails  through 
Holland  and  Belgium,  but  so  flat  that  ditches  and  canals 
are  everywhere ;  so  it  seems  as  if  they  dug  them  to  obtain  the 
soil  to  elevate  the  remaining  surface  above  the  water.  It  is 
wonderful  how  amiable  are  the  cattle  that  have  only  a  two 
or  three-foot  wide  canal  for  a  fence  and  never  attempt  to 
pass  it.  Put  a  Tulare  range  cow,  as  I  know  her,  into  one  of 
those  pastures,  she  would  make  the  circuit  of  Holland  inside 
of  three  days.  And  what  magnificent  beech  trees  they  have ! 
I  was  raised  in  a  primeval  forest  of  beech  timber,  where  boles 
ran  70  feet  without  a  limb  (and  how  many  of  them  I 
downed),  but  these  Dutch  beeches  are  up  to  grade.  Beech 
avenues  are  common,  and  how  completely  do  their  graceful 
swaying  crowns  shut  out  the  sun. 

Amsterdam  was  reached  first,  a  town  with  its  suburbs 
of  over  a  million.  And  this  reminds  me,  part  of  the  rail- 
roads of  Holland  belong  to  private  corporations  and  part 
to  the  State,  but  the  State  leases  its  roads  to  private  parties. 
Rates  are  per  mile  in  our  money:  First-class,  31-5  cents; 
second-class,  2j4  cents;  third-class,  i  2-5  cents.  The  bulk 
of  travel  is  second  and  third-class.  In  a  train  of  15  cars  one 
or  two  will  hold  all  first-classers. 

Amsterdam  abounds  in  canals  and  is  called  the  Venice 
of  the  north.  Both  cities  owe  their  being  to  commerce ;  both 
grew  up  out  from  under  the  sea  and  are  literally  built  on  the 
bones  of  their  founders.  The  houses  of  Amsterdam  are  built 
on  piles  like  the  lower  part  of  San  Francisco,  which  led  the 
learned,  prosaic  matter-of-fact  Erasmus  of  Rotterdam  to  say 


UNCONVENTIONAL  VIEWS  OF  DUTCH  ART     285 

that  he  knew  a  city  whose  people  dwelt  on  the  tops  of  trees, 
like  rooks.  About  four  generations  of  Dutchmen  had  to 
pass  before  the  jest  raised  a  Dutch  smile.  It  is  one  of  the 
money  centers  and  money  powers  of  the  world. 

For  fifty  years  I  have  read  that  the  cities  of  Amsterdam 
and  Rotterdam  contained  funny  houses  with  toppling  walls, 
leaning  over  the  street,  and  roofs  tilted  over  on  one  side  like 
a  man's  hat  whose  owner  had  been  too  intimate  with  corn 
juice.  It  isn't  true.  I  hunted  for  them.  One  I  found  with 
front  out  of  plumb,  its  wooden  foundations  had  weakened. 
There  have  been  more ;  but  they  have  been  taken  down,  and 
instead  of  Dutch  gables  and  small  many-paned  windows, 
have  sprung  up-to-date  splendid  fronts  with  plate-glass 
windows.  It  is  said  the  city  is  divided  by  its  canals  into  90 
islands  connected  by  about  300  bridges.  They  are  now 
building  a  palatial  Merchants'  Exchange  or  Bourse.  It 
took  27,000  piles  to  make  a  foundation.  Its  walls  are  up 
and  under  cover,  and  when  completed  will  be  a  massive 
building. 

Strange  how  sometimes  a  simple  incident  is  the  mother 
of  a  custom ;  and  the  custom,  growing,  gets  the  force  of  law ; 
and  nothing  can  abrogate  it  but  the  supreme  power  of  the 
state,  of  the  kingdom,  of  the  empire.  They  say  that  in  1622 
a  crowd  of  Amsterdam  boys  were  playing  in  the  rear  of  the 
chamber  of  commerce,  and  somehow  discovered  a  conspiracy 
of  scoundrels  to  blow  up  the  merchants  when  at  high 
change.  Recognizing  the  value  of  this  service  the  exchange 
granted  the  use  of  the  building  to  the  boys  of  Amsterdam 
for  a  playground  for  a  week  each  year,  in  August  or  Sep- 
tember; and  they  have  never  since  failed  to  claim  their 


286  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

annual  week's  possession.  Buildings  have  changed  several 
times  since  then,  but  the  custom  remains.  Suppose,  when 
the  new  building  is  complete,  the  exchange  should  mount  a 
high  horse  and  deny  admittance  to  the  boys.  Any  one  of 
them  could  apply  to  a  court  for  an  order  to  show  cause  why 
he  was  deprived  of  his  right ;  not  a  court  in  the  world  could 
beat  the  boy.  Grotius  grew  up  here  and  the  law  he  declared 
is  still  observed.  So  here  is  a  spot  where  one  can't  step  on 
this  particular  coat-tail  of  the  boy. 

During  the  seventeenth  century  it  ranked  as  the  first 
commercial  city  of  Europe.  But  towards  the  close  of  the 
eighteenth  century  its  commercial  power  began  to  wane, 
causes  for  which  you  can  study  elsewhere.  During  centuries 
it  has  been  an  art  center;  so  we  spent  a  day  in  one  of  the  art 
galleries. 

I  think  I  have  said  in  painting  there  is  nothing  that 
appeals  to  my  alleged  soul.  With  the  exception  of  Raffael's 
Madonna,  in  the  gallery  at  Florence,  known  as  the  "Ma- 
donna della  Sedia,"  I  never  saw  anything  that  held  me 
spellbound  and  sent  those  delicious  shivers  and  thrills  up 
and  down  the  back — I  think  they  call  it  ecstasy.  But  why 
should  not  my  cold  judgment  as  an  art  critic  be  worth  some- 
thing, because  of  it?  Painting  as  an  art  seems  to  be  a  sort 
of  local  affair.  I  saw  in  the  Vatican  gallery  a  painting 
representing  the  Fall  of  Man.  I  had  always  in  my  mind  the 
apple  as  the  forbidden  fruit;  the  text  doesn't  say  so;  speaks 
only  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree.  The  artist  had  here  Adam 
handing  down  to  Eve  (both  in  light  costume,  very)  fruit 
from  a  loquot  tree,  and  what  he  held  in  his  extended  palm 
was  a  loquot.  In  the  tree  was  the  serpent  with  such  a  smile 


UNCONVENTIONAL  VIEWS  OF  DUTCH  ART     287 

as  a  snake  might  smile;  near  the  snake  was  a  gaudy  parrot, 
and  chickens  and  other  domestic  animals  were  under  foot. 
Well,  it  all  seemed  natural,  except  Adam  giving  the  fruit 
to  Eve.  The  garden  of  Eden  is  said  to  have  been  in  a  tropi- 
cal or  semi-tropical  climate,  and  the  snake,  the  loquot  tree 
and  the  parrot  are  natives.  In  Amsterdam  I  saw  another 
Fall  of  Man.  Whether  Van  Dyck  or  Rembrandt  or  De 
Wit  or  who  was  artist  I  don't  remember.  But  the  Adam 
and  Eve  were  a  young  Dutch  couple,  scant  as  to  clothing; 
the  blue-eyed,  light-haired  type,  an  apple  tree,  and  a  snake 
with  a  Cupid's  head,  an  owl  in  the  branches;  she  extending 
to  him  a  good  specimen  of  apple — a  Golden  Sweet,  I  should 
say — while  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  sat  a  monkey  hugging  the 
cat,  and  scattered  around  on  the  ground  were  a  half  dozen 
hoptoads  or  frogs,  such  as  might  come  out  of  any  Amster- 
dam canal.  Each  is  true  to  nature  as  each  artist  saw  it  in  the 
life  around  him. 

In  the  Amsterdam  gallery  is  a  painting  of  Joseph  pre- 
senting Jacob,  his  father  and  his  brothers  and  their  retinue 
to  Pharaoh.  Pharaoh  is  a  prosperous  Amsterdam  merchant 
at  a  time  when  such  were  more  opulent  than  kings,  and 
Joseph  looked  like  a  sleek,  shrewd  operator  on  the  stock  ex- 
change, and  Jacob  was  a  seedy  Dutch  farmer,  undisquieted, 
with  the  square  Dutch  face,  round  head  and  grizzled  beard, 
sturdy  and  with  no  fawning,  obsequious  air,  such  as  every 
Oriental,  high  or  low,  assumes  when  in  the  presence  of 
superior  power. 

Then  there  was  another  noble  painting — Christ  before 
Pilate.  The  latter  was  a  Dutch  justice  with  a  Dutch  fur 
winter  cap. 


288  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

One  more  painting  in  that  gallery  let  me  speak  of.  It 
represented  Christ  at  the  home  of  Mary  and  Martha,  as  re- 
ferred to  in  the  last  part  of  Chapter  10  of  Luke,  where  Mary 
entertained  the  company,  and  Martha  is  a  buxom  Dutch  girl 
with  her  sleeves  rolled  to  her  elbows  over  a  shapely  arm,  her 
kitchen  apron  on.  Beside  her  was  a  lusty  lobster,  a  four-  or 
five-pound  salmon,  numerous  vegetables  and  fruits,  thrown 
out  in  clear  relief  from  the  light  of  a  well-lighted  room. 
Now,  what  are  the  probabilities  about  the  menu?  Lobsters 
came  from  the  Mediterranean,  60  miles  away  by  camel 
train,  if  at  all ;  the  nearest  point  for  fresh  fish  was  from  the 
Sea  of  Galilee,  30  miles,  with  donkey  transport.  There 
must  be  some  mistake  in  the  menu,  unless  we  suppose 
a  miracle.  More  likely  the  bill  of  fare  was  goat's  flesh  and 
horse  beans. 

Houses  in  Bethany  then  as  now,  had  a  low  door  and 
not  a  window,  and  the  feed  could  not  show  up  in  the  bright 
light  the  artist  gives.  That  houses  had  no  windows  and 
were  in  semi-darkness  in  Mary's  and  Martha's  day  is  plain, 
from  our  Savior's  parable,  Luke  xv:8. : 

"Either  what  woman,  having  ten  pieces  of  silver,  if  she 
lose  one  piece,  doth  not  light  a  candle  and  sweep  the  house 
and  seek  diligently  until  she  find  it?" 

They  have  not  changed  their  style  in  3,000  years;  the 
same  yesterday,  today,  and  forever;  no  windows;  the  man 
carries  the  babies,  and  rides  the  donkey,  the  wife  walks  be- 
hind to  whip  him  up  and  twist  his  tail. 

And  that  reminds  me  of  another  painting  I  saw  in  the 
Vatican  art  gallery  of  the  flight  of  Mary,  Joseph,  and  the 
child  into  Egypt,  when  Herod  was  seized  with  sudden  piety 


UNCONVENTIONAL  VIEWS  OF  DUTCH  ART     289 

and  sought  the  child  to  worship  it,  but  they  misconstrued  his 
motives,  as  related  in  the  second  chapter  of  Matthew. 
There  was  Mary  seated  on  an  enormous  donkey,  holding  the 
infant,  and  Joseph  standing  with  serious  face  alongside, 
and  in  the  faint  flicker  of  the  oil  lamps  they  were  about  to 
go  out  into  the  darkness.  That  was  not  Oriental  custom. 
It  was  the  man  who  rode  the  donkey  and  carried  the  baby, 
and  the  woman  trudged  behind.  The  days  of  chivalry  and 
the  crusades  put  woman  on  horseback  500  or  1,500  years 
later  in  the  Occident,  but  the  Orient  remained  unchanged. 
It  is  said,  however,  that  poetry  and  art  have  large  license, 
and  perhaps  we  ought  not  to  criticize,  since  the  artist  has 
shown  things  as  they  ought  to  be. 

Ruskin  says  that  all  art,  whether  architecture,  sculpture 
or  painting,  had  its  origin  in  war.  Some  king  had  scourged 
the  face  of  the  earth,  conquered  and  killed  his  enemies,  and 
was  desirous  of  perpetuating  his  deeds  beyond  his  genera- 
tion. Hence  temples  and  tombs  and  pyramids  and  rude 
designs  in  sculpture  and  painting  developed  into  the  archi- 
tecture, painting  and  sculpture  of  today.  Christianity 
gave  wide  scope  to  the  artist  in  all  lines;  and  what 
a  multitude  of  works  of  art  there  are  illustrative  of 
it.  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  more  than  a  thousand 
Madonnas,  and  each  locality  clothes  the  Madonna  with 
a  different  character.  In  Amsterdam  she  is  a  Dutch  woman, 
with  a  Dutch  baby.  But  in  the  gallery  of  the  Medici  at 
Florence,  the  face  is  of  one  of  the  Medici  girls.  And 
in  the  painting  of  our  Savior,  the  face  is  that  of  one 
of  the  Medici  young  men.  The  Medici  family  were  rich 
and  powerful  and  generous  patrons  of  art,  and  protectors 


290  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

and  defenders  of  religion  in  their  way  (a  way  barbarous  and 
crude),  but  they  didn't  forget  the  Medici.  I  could  say  many 
things  concerning  the  Madonnas  in  lent;  I  forbear. 

We  went  to  Rotterdam,  a  city  of  320,000  people,  its 
canals  full  of  ships,  its  wharves  bustling  and  active.  Two 
ships  from  Java  were  unloading.  A  band  of  music  was 
escorting  some  newly  enlisted  soldiers  to  a  ship  for  service 
in  Java.  Their  enlistment  is  for  six  years  at  100  florins 
($40)  a  year,  and  a  life  pension  if  they  return.  "Few  will 
return,"  said  our  guide.  "The  climate  is  more  fatal  than 
battle."  Rotterdam  has  many  new  streets  with  fine  build- 
ings. I  asked  the  price  of  a  vacant  lot  on  one  of  these  new 
streets  with  fine  buildings  on  either  side.  The  guide 
thought  from  50  to  200  florins  a  square  meter  (a  meter  is 
l  1-12  yards).  On  a  good  residence  street  we  saw  adver- 
tised for  sale,  grounds  1,600  square  meters,  a  good  two-story 
house,  fine  flower  gardens  and  shrubbery,  a  canal  between  the 
street  and  grounds,  with  a  light  drawbridge,  which  is  hauled 
in  at  night,  bright  and  attractive;  price,  7,500  florins 
($3,000) ;  about  such  a  place  as  an  Oakland  dealer  would 
ask  $8,000  for,  but  would  take  $4,000.  The  New  York 
Life  Insurance  Company  has  put  up  the  tallest  building  in 
Rotterdam,  seven  stories,  built  of  white  brick  with  enameled 
faces,  and  the  Rotterdamers  don't  tire  of  telling  how  work- 
men came  from  New  York  to  build  it  and  how  quickly  it 
was  finished. 

The  Hague,  the  capital  of  Holland,  we  visited,  a  town 
of  205,000,  and  noted  as  the  residence  of  the  sweetest,  hand- 
somest young  woman  in  Europe — Queen  Wilhelmina.  It 
is  not  two  years  since  she  came  to  the  throne.  Her  father, 


UNCONVENTIONAL  VIEWS  OF  DUTCH  ART     291 

the  king,  died  some  years  ago,  and  her  mother,  Queen  Emma, 
was  made  regent  until  the  girl  should  reach  2 1 .  Now  Queen 
Emma  lives  in  "the  Palace  in  the  Woods"  which  we  visited, 
a  solid  building  surrounded  by  forest.  It  contains  the 
royal  paintings  and  all  the  appurtenances  of  a  royal  palace. 
We  were  shown  through  it  by  a  lady  cultivated,  refined, 
knew  all  history  and  all  politics,  could  discuss  the  Boer  ques- 
tion, talked  good  English  and  had  the  manners  of  a  duchess 
and  a  wealth  of  blonde  hair,  and  made  the  best  guide  we 
ever  had.  I  wondered  if  she  had  royal  blood;  then  I  won- 
dered if  it  were  proper  to  offer  the  customary  tip  to  such  a 
woman.  I  tried  it — gave  her  a  florin — and  such  a  smile, 
and  such  a  bow;  it  paid.  We  did  not  see  Queen  Wilhel- 
mina;  she  was  entertaining  the  Crown  Prince  of  Siam  that 
day.  We  saw  him — a  very  dark  young  man  with  a  plug  hat 
and  mustache  (he  had  other  clothes).  The  queen  sent  a 
carriage,  and  the  driver  had  a  blue  coat  and  an  abundance 
of  gold  braid.  But  the  beautiful  queen's  picture  is  in  every 
picture  shop,  and  it  adorns  many  shop  goods,  even  to  match- 
boxes. The  Dutchmen  are  proud  of  her  and  loyal  to  her. 
She  married  last  year  some  prince  known  now  only  as  Queen 
Wilhelmina's  husband. 

We  saw  many  other  things;  but  did  we  go  out  into  the 
country?  Did  we  visit  the  famous  dykes  of  Holland  where 
are,  within,  the  abodes  of  men  15  feet  below  the  sea-level  and 
where  one  can  hear  the  thunderous  roar  of  the  outside  ocean? 
Did  we  see  windmills  and  engines  pumping  superfluous 
water  over  the  dykes  to  feed  the  ocean?  Did  we  go  into  the 
peasant  houses  and  drink  of  their  buttermilk  and  eat  of 
their  bread?  No!  We  are  American  grasshopper  tourists, 


292  LETTERS  OF  TRAVEL 

doing  Europe  on  time.  Our  proud  boast  will  be,  "We  have 
seen  Holland." 

I  inquired  the  wages  of  a  street  car  driver.  Nine  to 
ten  florins  a  week  ($3.50  to  $5).  A  fine  bay  cart-horse  of 
say  1,400  pounds  was  priced  at  $160.  Further  than  it  cost 
me,  I  have  no  knowledge  of  the  cost  of  the  necessaries  or 
luxuries  of  life.  I  saw  a  Philadelphia  lawn-mower  for  sale, 
price  lo-inch  cut,  $7;  12-inch  cut,  $8 — and  so  on. 

Thence  we  went  to  Brussels,  the  capital  of  Belgium, 
a  town,  with  its  environs  of  a  half  million,  a  live,  modern 
city,  full  of  art,  learning,  wealth,  business,  and  fashion. 
After  this  prosaic  art  effusion  time  would  fail  to  tell  of  all 
that  this  great  city  revealed — its  museums  and  galleries;  its 
palaces,  boulevards,  avenues,  monuments,  fountains  and 
parks;  its  lace  factories,  where  at  one  they  told  us  their  work- 
women receive  15  to  20  cents  a  day — at  another  40  to  50 
cents.  Which  was  truth*? 

One  of  the  curiosities  of  Brussels  is  the  Mannikin  Foun- 
tain, near  the  Hotel  de  Ville  or  City  Hall.  It  has  stood 
there  since  1619,  and  all  guide  books  note  it.  It  is  a  great 
favorite  with  the  lower  classes,  and  its  destruction  would 
cause  a  revolution  to  which  the  French  disturbance  of  1789 
was  not  a  beginning.  I  can  not  describe  it;  but  if  you  go 
to  Brussels  hunt  it  out  and  then  exclaim  as  we  did,  "How 
ridiculous!"  All  other  things  concerning  this  great  city 
will  keep  until  we  reach  home.  One  thing  we  noticed  all 
through  Germany,  Holland,  and  Belgium  was  the  physical 
vigor  of  the  girls.  A  young  woman  with  the  form  of  a 
Hebe,  whether  she  wielded  a  slop  pail  and  scrubbing  brush 
or  with  dainty  white  cap  and  apron  was  chambermaid  with 


UNCONVENTIONAL  VIEWS  OF  DUTCH  ART     293 

abundant  health  and  high  spirits,  unconscious  of  nerves, 
seemed  happy  and  content,  though  unable  to  solve  a  prob- 
lem in  quadratics,  or  demonstrate  the  pom  asinorum. 

Paternally, 

PAPA  NYE. 


Westminster  -Abbe?  an& 

Mlcnumcutal 


Dear  People  in  California  :  LONDON,  July  24. 

The  remarkable  things  of  London  are  numberless. 
To  describe  them  would  fill  volumes.  Volumes  have  been 
filled  along  that  line.  Any  library  furnishes  them.  In  a 
general  way,  I  want  to  speak  of  memorial  art  as  shown  by 
the  English  people.  In  the  first  place  there  is  Westminster 
Abbey,  the  English  temple  of  fame,  wherein  are  buried  the 
kings  and  many  of  the  most  celebrated  of  her  statesmen, 
poets,  historians,  and  men  of  science,  and  wherein  are  hun- 
dreds of  statues  and  memorial  tablets  and  medallions. 
Sometimes  there  have  been  mistakes  and  some  feeble  fellows 
have  their  names  there,  and  that  is  the  only  way  the  world 
knows  them.  Then,  there  are  the  paintings  and  statuary 
which  adorn  the  public  halls  in  the  Houses  of  Parliament, 
in  Westminster  Hall  in  the  tower,  in  the  British  Museum, 
that  greatest  collection  of  its  kind  in  the  world,  in  the  Royal 
Art  Gallery,  and  in  the  hundreds  of  public  collections  of 
art  which  are  but  extensions  and  elaborations  of  that  great 
temple  of  fame,  Westminster  Abbey.  And  one  can  not 
but  be  impressed  with  the  judicial  fairness  made  to  merit, 
all  through  this  keen  reminder  of  the  great  men  of  the  past. 
For  instance,  I  think  the  feeling  is  sort  of  general  all  through 
the  great  British  heart,  that  it  was  a  mistake  when  they 
caused  the  head  of  Charles  I  to  roll  in  the  basket,  and  that 
the  government  was  put  under  the  protectorate  of  Cromwell. 
But  Cromwell  was  a  strong  man,  and  his  personality 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  295 

impressed  itself  on  England.  Because  of  him  she  was  strong 
and  administered  a  terrible  thrashing  on  Holland,  the  great 
sea  power  of  that  day;  so  that  history  relates  how  Dutch 
mothers  hushed  their  children  to  silence  and  changed 
childish  rebellion  to  obedience  by  saying:  "Cromwell  will 
get  you,  if  you  don't  watch  out."  He  was  the  Dutch  bogie 
man  of  that  day.  But  English  people  and  English  art 
recognize  the  greatness  of  Cromwell.  The  statue  of  Charles 
I,  in  appearance  distinguished,  high-bred,  aristocratic, 
stands  in  the  halls  of  Parliament  House,  and  not  far  from 
it,  in  military  boots  and  dangling  sword,  with  marked, 
strong  face,  stands  the  statue  of  the  Great  Protector,  who 
"knew  what  he  believed  and  loved  what  he  knew." 

Among  Americans  of  fifty  years  ago,  and  longer,  there 
was  a  sort  of  suppressed  enmity  to  Great  Britain  in  public 
and  in  private  life,  and  a  public  speaker  could  more  easily 
elicit  applause  by  abuse  of  Great  Britain  than  in  any  other 
way;  and  even  now  the  tail-twister  of  the  British  lion  is  not 
uncommon  even  outside  the  Lower  House  of  Congress. 
Fortunately  that  feeling  is  fading  in  the  United  States,  and 
I  do  not  think  it  was  ever  reciprocated  over  here  to  the  same 
extent.  The  long  corridor  leading  from  the  central  hall 
to  the  House  of  Commons  is  hung  on  either  side  with  paint- 
ings illustrative  of  national  history;  and  prominent  among 
them  is  a  striking  painting  of  the  embarking  of  the  Pilgrims. 
In  Westminster  Abbey,  in  the  poets'  corner,  prominent 
among  the  immortals  is  our  Longfellow.  In  my  inter- 
course with  Britons,  I  have  heard  no  breath  of  jealousy,  no 
sneers,  nothing  but  the  kindest  regard  and  the  greatest 
respect  for  America  and  Americans;  in  fact,  a  general  feel- 


296  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

ing  of  pride  that  this  child  of  Britain  has  become  so  great. 
And  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  say  this;  because  I  had  been 
led  to  believe  otherwise.  When  the  American  comes  in 
and  wins  the  Derby,  some  nervous  Briton  jumps  up  and 
wants  to  know  what  the  d — Ps  the  matter,  and  why  the 
bloomin'  Americans  should  be  walking  off  with  the  Derby. 
The  more  phlegmatic  and  judicial-minded  brother  Briton 
says  it  is  "because  the  American  has  bred  the  best  'orse"; 
and  he  doggedly  sets  himself  to  the  task  of  breeding  better 
stock. 

Did  Sir  Thomas  Lipton  sulk  or  whine  when  the  Sham- 
rock got  left?  Not  a  bit  of  it;  declared  his  rival  had  the 
better  boat;  and  set  himself  to  build  one  still  better.  Some 
other  time  I  hope  to  say  something  more  of  the  great  Sir 
Thomas. 

America  has  led  in  the  creation  and  manufacture  of 
electrical  goods.  I  spent  an  evening  with  a  workman  in  a 
like  London  plant.  They  found  themselves  unable  to  go 
into  market  with  their  goods  at  American  prices.  So  they 
went  over  and  got  an  American  manager.  The  men  kicked 
and  grumbled  in  a  quiet  way.  The  new  manager  could 
handle  men,  and  with  new  devices  and  appliances  the  men 
became  satisfied  that  under  the  new  management  they  were 
making  more  goods  for  the  same  money  than  ever  before, 
and  the  new  manager  saw  to  it  that  no  man  lost  a  job,  and 
peace  spread  her  wings  over  the  factory. 

But  I  wander  from  British  memorial  art.  To  me  a 
portrait  is  simply  a  picture ;  it  speaks  of  the  dead  and  gone, 
because  it  is  a  portrait.  But  when  a  block  of  marble  is 
whetted  and  chiseled  into  the  human  form,  and  the  face 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY  297 

expresses  the  very  emotions,  and  you  feel  that  if  you  should 
lift  your  hat  and  say  "Good  morning,"  that  figure  would 
make  a  courtly  bow  and  return  the  salutation,  there  is  a 
sense  of  reality — a  historic  past  that  becomes  the  historic 
now,  which  I  can  not  shake,  and  which,  to  me,  painting  fails 
to  furnish.  Too,  when  in  the  halls  of  Westminster  Abbey 
the  statues  of  Charles  I  and  George  III  looked  at  me  so 
courtly  and  so  kindly,  I  remembered  our  Patrick  Henry's 
address  to  the  Virginia  house  of  delegates,  that  thrilled  and 
warmed  the  blood  like  rare  old  wine,  ending,  as  you  re- 
member, "Caesar  had  his  Brutus,  Charles  I  his  Cromwell, 
and  George  III — may  profit  by  their  example."  And  when 
I  see  the  brass  tablet  in  the  floor  of  Westminster  Hall  where 
stood  the  unfortunate  Charles  when  sentence  of  death  was 
pronounced  by  the  court,  and  then  go  down  Whitehall 
Street  near-by,  where  two  and  a  half  centuries  ago  they  led 
him  out  of  Whitehall  palace  into  the  street  and  docked  his 
head,  it  seems  so  real,  so  present,  so  of  today,  I  find  myself 
asking  myself,  "Did  he  deserve  his  fate?  And  George  III — 
was  he  the  unjust  king  painted  in  the  American  Declaration 
of  Independence?"  I  am  saving  these  questions  for  a 
review  of  history  later  on. 

Britain  is  profuse  in  monuments  and  bronze  figures 
perpetuating  the  memory  of  past  events  and  men.  No 
public  square  or  area  or  circus  in  London  but  is  embellished 
by  one  or  more  of  these.  Let  me  speak  of  two  or  three. 
After  Waterloo,  the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  the  pride  and 
pet  of  Great  Britain.  Several  bronze  statues  of  him  adorn 
public  places  in  London — all  equestrian.  One  in  Green 
Park  on  Piccadilly,  nearly  opposite  the  duke's  London  resi- 


298  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

dence,  is  of  decided  merit  so  far  as  it  represents  the  man. 
It  has  the  square,  firm  jaw,  the  intent  face,  the  military 
form,  the  heroic  mold,  which  all  his  pictures  show — just 
that  expression  which  we  fancy  of  him,  when  at  Waterloo 
he  shouted,  "Up,  guards,  and  at  them!"  But  the  horse 
was  an  artistic  failure.  No  general  rides  a  broncho  to 
battle.  "Broncho-busting"  is  another  branch.  I  saw  in 
Edinburgh  another  equestrian  statue  of  Wellington,  on  the 
same  kind  of  impossible  horse,  a  rearing,  pawing,  wild 
creation.  The  artist  who  conceived  it  was  not  "onto  his 
job."  But  down  on  Trafalgar  Square  by  the  fountain  in 
front  of  the  National  Art  Gallery  is  another  and  a  very 
superior  equestrian  statue  of  Wellington,  designed  by  a 
great  artist — I  don't  know  his  name.  Its  great  excellence 
is  in  the  figure  of  the  horse.  A  clean-cut,  intelligent  head, 
poised  as  if  to  catch  the  rider's  whisper,  the  image  of 
courage  and  resolution;  so  instinct  with  life  it  seems  as  if 
a  touch  of  rein  and  spur  would  send  him  off  the  pedestal 
and  he  would  swim  the  Thames  if  called  upon.  I  never 
pass  it  that  I  do  not  pause  and  admire.  The  artist  had 
studied  to  some  purpose  the  educated  horse  and  given  ex- 
pression to  his  soul.  I  have  never  seen  its  equal.  I  always 
admired  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  When  I  saw  his  house, 
it  recalled  the  time  when  London  got  hungry,  and  hungry 
London  howled  and  became  dangerous  and  beyond  police 
control.  Something  had  to  break,  and  the  mob  broke  the 
duke's  front  windows  and  battered  the  great  doors  and 
front  wall ;  so  next  day  it  looked  like  a  captured  fort  after 
a  long  siege.  Of  course  all  England  cried  "Shame!"  At 
the  Old  Bailey,  the  courts  punished  some  rioters;  but  the 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY  299 

duke's  house  stood  ruinous  and  dismantled.  Parliament 
took  it  up  and  introduced  a  bill  appropriating  funds  for 
the  repairs.  The  duke  wouldn't  have  it;  quoted  the  Eng- 
lish common  law  that  a  man's  house  was  his  castle;  it  was 
sacred  against  invasion;  except  the  invasion  of  a  mob.  So 
the  ruin  stood  for  years  in  the  most  exclusive,  aristocratic, 
and  fashionable  part  of  London. 

Some  lads  were  at  play;  one  took  mud  on  the  end  of  a 
shingle  and  threw  it  so  it  adorned  the  cheek  of  another  lad, 
who  let  it  remain.  Said  one,  "Bill,  wipe  it  off."  "Ain't 
a-going  to;  let  it  dry  on  and  show  it  to  dad,"  was  the  serious 
and  laconic  reply.  The  duke  let  it  dry  on. 

There  was  once  a  large  assemblage  in  London  of 
dignitaries  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  was  present.  Foreign  missions  were  under  dis- 
cussion. An  archbishop,  supported  by  some  bishops, 
pleaded  for  smaller  appropriations  for  foreign  missions, 
that  there  might  be  more  for  home  work.  Finally  the 
duke's  opinion  was  sought.  "What  are  your  marching 
orders'?"  In  the  hush  some  one  said:  "Go  into  all  the 
world  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature."  Said  the 
Iron  Duke:  "No  good  soldier  questions  his  marching 
orders."  Somehow  they  felt  as  if  they  had  the  duke's 
opinion,  though  he  had  said  nothing,  and  somehow  it 
seemed  as  if  there  was  nothing  to  discuss. 

Across  the  street  from  the  Westminster  Abbey  grounds, 
and  near  the  Parliament  buildings,  in  a  flower  garden  stands 
the  bronze  statue  of  the  distinguished  Jew,  Benjamin 
Disraeli,  Lord  Beaconsfield,  of  whom  it  is  said  when  he 
essayed  his  first  speech  in  the  House  of  Commons  he  was 


300  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

hooted  down,  but  who  shook  his  defiant  fist  in  the  face  of 
the  howling  parliamentary  mob,  and  said:  "You  will  hear 
me  yet."  Later  on  things  came  his  way  and  for  years  he 
was  Britain's  premier,  and  upheld  the  nation's  honor,  and, 
living  and  dead,  the  nation  honored  him.  The  bronze 
image  is  imposing  and  true  to  life;  but  that  iconoclast,  the 
English  sparrow,  in  contempt  of  titled  greatness,  has  piled 
his  guano  high  upon  the  right  shoulder  and  raised  right  arm 
of  the  great  statesman,  and  bird  lime,  running  in  white 
streaks  through  his  thin,  curling  locks  and  down  the 
Israelitish  features,  demonstrates  how  popular  a  spot  for 
sparrow  conventions  is  that  particular  head. 

Bedford  Place  is  a  residence  street  not  a  half  mile  long 
in  London  West  End,  where  was  our  home  while  in  Lon- 
don. At  either  end  of  the  street  is  a  charming  little  tree- 
embowered  park  of  a  few  acres.  In  one  is  set  a  bronze 
statue  of  the  Duke  of  Bedford;  a  standing  figure  in  the 
classical  toga,  while  at  his  feet  on  either  side  stand  two 
curly-headed  youthful  figures  in  scant  attire  with  arms  piled 
up  with  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  all  set  on  a  pedestal  six  feet 
high.  It  is  a  noble,  imposing  figure  and  a  grand  specimen 
of  monumental  art.  Here,  too,  congregates  the  sparrow 
clan,  and,  like  the  true  Briton,  quarrels  with  and  whips 
every  bird  that  he  thinks  is  not  bigger  (and,  Briton-like,  he 
thinks  there  is  no  bigger).  But  in  the  tail  of  the  ducal 
toga  is  a  sort  of  consolation — a  secluded  pocket — and  here 
the  ironical  sparrow  has  gathered  threads  and  rags  and  straw 
and  leaves  and  builded  an  ample  nest  and  rears  her  young. 
And  so  in  the  arms  of  the  youngsters,  beneath  the  bronze 
fruit  and  turnips,  are  other  nests  and  troops  of  sparrow 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY  301 

urchins;  and  the  heads  of  those  curly-headed  youngsters 
look  as  if  they  had  lately  been  baptized  in  an  ample  dish  of 
pancake  batter. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  street  in  the  other  park  is  the 
sitting  bronze  figure  of  Charles  James  Fox,  an  English 
statesman  of  about  the  period  of  our  American  Revolution, 
holding  in  his  hand  a  scroll.  The  sparrow  has  not  for- 
gotten him.  Beneath  his  chair  and  in  every  corner  of  his 
coat  is  the  sparrow's  nest;  and,  as  if  envious  of  the  color,  of 
the  rich,  dark  bronze,  the  sparrow  has  tried  his  artist  hand 
at  painting  it  white,  and  has  made  a  sorry  job  of  it. 

Oh,  the  sweet,  generous,  charming,  ever-loving,  for- 
ever-youthful, cherishing  mother  Nature!  What  an  im- 
partial democrat  is  she!  Neither  birth  nor  condition  nor 
rank  counts  with  her.  She  buries  her  dead  when  death 
comes;  she  cares  alone  for  the  living.  A  thousand  cen- 
turies hence  dukes  and  earls  may  be  forgotten,  but  the 
sparrows  will  still  build  their  nests  and  raise  their  young. 
It  is  the  law  of  life.  In  the  last  analysis  Nature  "gets 
there";  she  is  supreme. 

I  forgot  to  mention  the  poet  Gay,  who  flourished  the 
first  quarter  of  the  eighteenth  century,  who  got  a  place  in 
Westminster  Abbey;  seemingly  Gay  by  name  and  gay 
by  nature.  He  dictated  his  own  epitaph,  and  it  is  on  his 
medallion,  thus: 

"Life  is  a  jest,  and  all  things  show  it; 
I  thought  so  once,  but  now  I  know  it." 

It  is  one  instance  of  a  joke  perpetuated  for  a  hundred 
years;  a  sort  of  perennial  chestnut. 

Yours  sincerely,        S.  G.  N. 


State  Z3rial 


LONDON,  July  31. 

On  the  eighteenth  of  July  came  up  for  trial  Earl 
Russell  on  a  felony  charge  (bigamy),  before  a  jury  of  his 
peers,  to  wit:  a  jury  of  the  British  House  of  Lords.  This 
is  a  law  that  has  survived  feudalism,  to  wit:  That  if  a 
felony  has  been  committed,  the  person  charged  is  entitled  to 
a  trial  before  a  jury  of  his  peers;  if  a  commoner,  then  his 
jury  is  from  the  commoners,  and  no  titled  lord  can  be  a 
juror;  if  the  bearer  of  a  hereditary  title,  then  his  jury  must 
be  of  the  House  of  Lords,  and  no  commoner  can  be  a  jury- 
man. The  last  trial  of  this  kind  was  sixty  years  ago,  when 
the  fiery  Lord  Cardigan  fought  a  duel  with  Captain  Harvey 
Thickett,  winged  his  man,  and  was  tried  for  it  and  ac- 
quitted. Lord  Cardigan  was  the  hero  of  the  "Charge  of 
the  Six  Hundred."  This  trial  of  Earl  Russell  is  the  first 
one  to  follow.  A  little  of  Lord  Russell's  history  may  be 
of  interest.  Twelve  years  ago,  then  23  years  old,  he 
married;  it  proved  unhappy;  a  separation  followed. 

He  had  a  mother-in-law  with  a  vicious  tongue.  Not 
satisfied  with  that,  she  took  to  the  newspapers  with  her  pen  ; 
then  came  an  arrest  and  trial  for  criminal  libel;  and  a  con- 
viction by  an  English  jury,  and  she  was  sentenced  to 
imprisonment  in  jail,  and  Lady  What's-er-name  suffered 
the  punishment  of  a  common  termagant.  As  this  was  not 
a  felony,  it  needed  no  trial  by  a  House  of  Lords.  Any 
court  of  oyer  and  terminer  having  the  jurisdiction  could 


AN   ENGLISH   STATE   TRIAL  303 

try  it.  Between  Earl  Russell  and  his  countess  there  was 
for  years  much  litigation,  but  no  cohabitation. 

He  went  to  the  State  of  Nevada,  and,  under  advice  of 
counsel  there,  lived  there  long  enough  to  gain  a  residence, 
then  sued  for  divorce,  got  service  of  summons  by  publica- 
tion; picked  up  and  married  another  woman  there  known 
as  Mollie  Cook  or  Mrs.  Somerville,  and  took  her  home  to 
England,  to  be  met  with  a  summons  by  the  original  Lady 
Russell  for  divorce  on  the  ground  of  bigamy.  He  con- 
sulted Mr.  Robson,  Liberal  member  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons and  one  of  the  brightest  lawyers  at  the  bar,  and  is 
called  the  man  of  the  future,  and  after  getting  the  laws 
of  Nevada  and  the  divorce  record,  and  the  opinion  of  a 
prominent  Nevada  lawyer,  Earl  Russell  was  instructed 
there  were  fatal  defects  in  the  record,  and  the  decree  of 
divorce  was  worthless.  So  he  had  two  wives  on  hand. 
The  first  one  took  her  decree  of  divorce  without  opposition. 
Then  came  the  criminal  indictment  for  bigamy. 

In  the  House  of  Parliament  there  is  a  room  known  as 
the  Royal  Gallery.  It  is  the  grand  corridor  leading  from 
Victoria  Tower  to  the  House  of  Lords,  through  which  the 
king  approaches  the  throne,  with  his  retinue,  when  attending 
Parliament  in  state;  a  grand  and  lofty  room  befitting 
royalty.  This  was  converted  into  a  court  room.  The 
furnishings  of  the  court  room  were  a  dark  red  or  warm 
brown,  red  cushions  for  the  seats;  they  being  very  plain, 
like  the  seats  of  a  town  hall.  Something  like  three  hundred 
lords,  clad  in  scarlet  gowns  and  wearing  gray  wigs,  attended, 
and  two  archbishops.  The  woolsack,  the  seat  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain,  who  presides  over  the  House  of  Lords,  is  a 


304  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

long,  plain,  wide,  solid-built  red  sofa  cushion.  Here  sat 
the  Earl  of  Halsbury,  appointed  by  the  king  as  lord  high 
steward,  to  preside  over  the  trial  of  this  case,  and  on  either 
side,  in  all,  ten  judges,  robed  in  scarlet  and  bewigged,  to 
advise  him  on  questions  of  law. 

A  portion  of  the  great  room  was  set  apart  for  peeresses 
and  eldest  sons  of  peers,  and  outside  the  bar  was  a  solid 
assemblage  of  distinguished  persons,  among  whom  was  Mr. 
Choate,  American  ambassador.  When  the  lords  had 
marched  in  procession  to  their  places,  and  the  judges  had 
arranged  themselves  along  the  woolsack  on  either  side  of 
Lord  Halsbury,  the  lord  high  steward,  the  sergeant-at- 
arms  sings  out  "Oyez,  Oyez,  Oyez,"  and  silence  is  com- 
manded in  the  name  of  "Our  Sovereign  Lord,  the  King," 
upon  all  manner  of  persons,  under  pain  of  imprisonment. 
The  hush  was  instantaneous,  and  for  the  moment  there  was 
silence,  and  through  the  great  hall  the  vivid  vision  of  color. 
Then  Lord  Halsbury  announced  the  king's  commission, 
which  on  bended  knee  was  handed  by  the  clerk  of  chancery 
to  the  clerk  of  king's  bench,  and  by  him,  on  bended  knee, 
received  and  read  while  all  the  lords  rose  and  stood  to  the 
end  of  the  reading,  and  then  cried  out  in  chorus:  "God 
Save  the  King."  Court  was  now  open.  Such  a  contrast 
this,  to  the  modern,  utilitarian,  practical,  matter-of-fact 
way  of  opening  a  court  and  getting  to  business.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  gates  of  time  had  swung  back  and  opened  up  a 
scene  of  six  hundred  years  ago. 

At  this  point  appeared  Earl  Russell  in  charge  of 
Yeoman  Usher,  clad  in  dapper  sables.  All  eyes  were 
turned  on  him.  He  (Earl  Russell),  clad  in  a  gray,  frock- 


AN   ENGLISH   STATE  TRIAL  305 

coat  suit,  betrayed  neither  defiance  nor  dejection.  He 
seemed  at  perfect  ease,  and  assumed  neither  the  pose  of  an 
injured  nor  of  a  submissive  man.  They  wore  red  mantles; 
he  a  red  necktie.  It  is  said  that  his  views  of  the  utility  of 
the  House  of  Lords  are  far  from  orthodox — views  which 
he  has  held  for  years. 

The  Russells  have  cut  quite  a  figure  in  English  his- 
tory. When  Magna  Charta  was  new,  a  Russell  was  con- 
stable of  Corps  Castle;  another  was  speaker  of  the  House 
of  Commons  before  the  War  of  the  Roses.  Edward  Rus- 
sell fought  and  crushed  the  French  at  La  Hague,  and  his 
grandson,  Lord  John  Russell,  was  the  queen's  prime 
minister,  and  for  fifty  years  was  in  public  life. 

The  lord  high  steward  then  directed  Black  Rod  to  take 
the  prisoner  from  the  yeoman  and  bring  him  to  the  bar. 
This  done,  Earl  Russell,  with  ease  and  grace,  bowed  three 
times  to  Lord  Halsbury.  Lord  Halsbury  then  said :  "My 
Lord  Russell,  you  are  charged  with  the  crime  of  bigamy. 
Your  lordship  will  now  be  arraigned  on  that  indictment." 

The  clerk  read  the  indictment,  and  ended  by  saying: 
"How  say  you,  my  lord,  are  you  guilty  of  the  felony  with 
which  you  stand  charged,  or,  not  guilty?"  Here  Mr. 
Robson,  his  counsel,  interposed  a  demurrer,  the  point  being 
that  the  indictment  charged  the  bigamous  marriage  to  have 
been  made  in  the  United  States,  and  outside  the  jurisdiction 
of  the  king's  courts. 

Mr.  Robson's  argument  was  carried  on  in  a  low,  con- 
versational tone  that  could  scarcely  be  heard  save  by  the 
occupants  of  the  woolsack.  A  member  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  in  the  lobby,  not  having  fear  of  the  dignity  of 


3o6  LETTERS  OF  TRAVEL 

the  occasion,  called  out  as  if  he  were  making  a  canvass  for 
Parliament,  "Speak  up."  Black  Rod  glared  at  the  spot 
whence  came  the  interruption,  and  the  argument  proceeded. 
Lord  Halsbury  promptly  overruled  the  demurrer,  and  said : 
"My  lord,  do  you  plead  guilty  or  not  guilty*?"  Lord  Rus- 
sell rose;  there  was  a  hush  as  of  death.  He  said,  in  a  low, 
firm  voice:  "My  lords,  under  the  advice  of  counsel  I 
plead  guilty."  Mr.  Robson  was  on  his  feet  at  once  with 
a  plea  in  mitigation,  after  which  he  asked  that  his  client 
be  permitted  to  make  a  statement,  which  was  granted. 

Lord  Russell  then  addressed  the  high  court  for  ten 
minutes,  as  coolly  and  as  unmoved  as  if  it  were  of  some 
third  person  he  was  speaking.  In  substance  he  said  he  had 
acted  in  the  utmost  good  faith,  and  in  the  honest  belief  that 
all  he  had  done  was  legal;  and  he  had  acted  on  the  best 
advice  he  could  get  in  Nevada.  Now  he  found  his  error. 
He  referred  to  his  unfortunate  first  marriage,  and  to  the 
fact  that  the  wife  of  that  marriage  had  on  her  own  motion 
procured  a  divorce;  and  that  the  year  within  which  mar- 
riage was  forbidden  had  nearly  passed;  that  when  the  time 
came  so  he  could,  he  should  contract  legally  a  marriage 
which  he  was  now  told  he  had  illegally  contracted  in 
Nevada. 

The  court  then  retired  to  consider  the  punishment. 
Without  repeating  the  summing  up  of  the  lord  high 
steward,  the  judgment  was  imprisonment  in  Holloway 
Gaol  for  three  calendar  months  as  a  criminal  in  the  first 
division.  And  to  add  poignancy  to  the  punishment,  the 
quarters  he  occupies  are  the  same  heretofore  occupied  by  his 
mother-in-law  of  high  degree. 


AN   ENGLISH   STATE   TRIAL  307 

Although  no  issue  was  joined  and  no  trial  had,  the 
cost  exceeded  $2,000,  and  the  British  public  stick  deep 
their  fists  in  their  trousers'  pockets,  look  each  other  in  the 
face,  and  ask:  "Why  this  special  privilege*?  Why 
couldn't  Lord  Russell,  with  less  cost  and  feathers,  have 
been  tried  in  the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  like  any  other 
bigamist4?"  For  the  British  public  is  a  commercial  chap, 
albeit  it  takes  hard  knocks  and  frequent  to  dislodge  the 
ideas  of  hereditary  privilege. 

Notice  has  already  been  given  by  a  member  of  the 
House  of  Commons  that  he  will  introduce  a  bill  putting 
this  kind  of  a  felony  on  trial  before  the  Court  of  King's 
Bench.  Lord  Bal four's  reply  was  that  inasmuch  as  this 
kind  of  trial  had  occurred  only  once  in  sixty  years,  this  bill 
ought  not  to  be  considered  at  this  session,  considering  the 
crowded  condition  of  the  legislative  docket  on  urgent  and 
necessary  business.  I  made  many  inquiries  to  ascertain 
what  kind  of  an  all-around  man  Earl  Russell  is.  Nobody 
knew  him  or  had  ever  heard  of  him.  Finally  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  man  who  was  at  school  with  him, 
although  they  were  not  of  the  same  class.  As  a  boy,  he 
put  up  Earl  Russell  as  dull,  not  quick  to  comprehend,  no 
force;  "weak  mentally,"  as  he  expressed  it.  Has  he 
improved  since?  I  can  not  say. 

And  now  let  me  say  a  few  words  about  the  English 
courts,  a  subject  doubtless  dull  to  others  but  of  interest  to 
me.  The  English  law  system,  to  wit,  the  common  law,  is 
mother  of  all  the  law  of  the  United  States  and  of  each 
individual  State,  save  Louisiana,  which  adopted  the 
French  code.  But  common  law  forms  and  pleadings  were 


308  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

felt  to  be  technical,  so  most  of  the  old  States  and  all  the 
new  ones  had  codified  their  law  practice  on  a  simpler  basis 
prior  to  1860.  In  1873,  by  what  is  known  as  the  Judi- 
cature Act,  England  did  the  same  thing.  It  provided  that 
the  same  rule  of  law  should  be  enforced  in  courts  of  common 
law  and  equity,  and  united  all  the  superior  tribunals  into 
a  supreme  court  of  judicature,  corresponding  to  the  Cali- 
fornia Superior  Court,  and  a  Court  of  Appeals  like  our 
Supreme  Court.  But  there  is  a  further  appeal  to  the 
House  of  Lords,  or  its  legal  members.  That  court  consists 
of  the  lord  chancellor,  peers  who  have  been  lord  chancellors, 
and  certain  law  lords  who  hold  life  peerages. 

To  house  these  courts  in  London  the  royal  courts  of 
justice  have  been  built — a  vast  and  magnificent  Gothic  pile 
in  a  single  block,  fronting  500  feet  on  the  Strand,  and  con- 
taining 1,100  apartments.  The  site  cost  $7,250,000  and 
the  building  $3,750,000,  so  you  see  real  estate  is  well  along 
in  value  in  London.  That  is  only  $29  a  square  foot,  but 
I  noted  a  sale  the  other  day  in  London  of  a  lot  at  $250  a 
square  foot.  At  that  rate  my  Oakland  lot,  50x100,  should 
be  worth  $1,250,000.  But  why  realize,  considering  the 
great  future  in  front  of  Oakland. 

In  this  building  are  nineteen  court  rooms  for  these 
courts  of  King's  Bench  (our  Superior  Court)  to  do  the  law 
business  of  London,  with  four  and  a  half  millions  of 
population.  Only  two  of  these  departments  were  in  ses- 
sion, the  remainder  are  on  vacation.  They  convene  at 
10:30  A.  M.,  continue  in  session  until  i  :oo,  recess  for  lunch 
one  hour,  then  business  until  5:00  or  after.  We  gave  a 
day  to  the  courts.  Their  practice  is  like  ours,  and,  the 


AN   ENGLISH   STATE  TRIAL  309 

trappings  aside,  one  might  think  himself  listening  to  a  trial 
in  San  Francisco  or  Oakland. 

The  court  rooms  are  small  and  cluttered;  the  judge 
on  a  raised  dais;  at  his  right  the  witness-box  (the  witness 
always  stands),  at  the  left  the  jury-box;  in  the  front  the 
clerk;  at  the  clerk's  right  and  below  the  witness-box,  the 
reporters'  desk;  in  front  of  the  clerk's  desk  are  rows  of 
benches,  cushioned,  with  a  continuous  desk  in  front  of  each 
bench.  The  first  and  second  seemed  to  be  occupied  by 
witnesses  and  lawyers'  clerks;  the  other  seats  were  occupied 
by  attorneys,  and  in  the  trial  of  a  case,  opposite  counsel 
sat  beside  each  other.  The  judge  wore  an  elaborate  flowing 
gray  wig  and  black  gown;  counsel  wore  the  same,  save  that 
the  wig  was  a  sort  of  bobtail  affair. 

The  court  room,  because  of  its  lack  of  space  and  in- 
convenient desks  for  counsel,  would  not  pass  muster  in 
California  in  any  county.  Department  8  was  presided 
over  by  Mr.  Justice  Wills,  Department  9  by  Mr.  Justice 
Mathews.  It  was  a  hot  day.  In  the  former,  wig  and 
gown  were  vigorously  adhered  to;  in  the  latter,  on  the  open- 
ing of  court,  Mr.  Justice  Mathews  remarked  upon  the 
oppressive  heat  and  said  that  for  comfort  he  would  discard 
his  wig  and  members  of  the  bar  could  do  likewise  if  they 
chose.  About  half  of  them  did  so,  and  thus  at  bench  and 
bar  wigs  lay  slung  around  in  a  most  careless  and  miscel- 
laneous manner,  and  the  court  room  seemed  to  have  the 
ease  and  abandon  of  the  extremist  American  court. 

In  No.  8  the  first  case  on  was  on  several  promissory  notes. 
The  answer  was  a  general  denial  and  want  of  consideration. 
Plaintiff  was  a  jobbing  merchant  and  sold  to  defendant's 


3io  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

husband,  a  retailer,  goods  on  credit.  The  debtor  died  and 
his  widow  (the  defendant)  continued  the  business.  Want- 
ing further  credit  she  gave  her  note  for  new  supplies, 
including  her  husband's  debts.  She  was  an  ignorant 
woman,  signed  her  name  with  the  emblem  of  salvation  and 
talked  with  a  brogue.  As  months  and  years  ran  on  the 
business  grew  worse,  and  then  ceased,  with  the  notes  not  all 
paid;  and  hence  this  suit.  The  distinguishing  feature  of 
the  trial  was  a  witness,  the  plaintiff's  bright  daughter,  his 
bookkeeper,  whose  books  and  clear,  businesslike  statements 
carried  conviction  to  court  and  hearers,  notwithstanding 
the  vehement  statements  of  defendant  that  she  never  signed 
anything.  Judgment  for  plaintiff.  The  case  occupied 
one  hour. 

The  next  case  was  an  action  on  a  life  insurance  policy 
of  the  New  York  Mutual  Reserve  Life  Insurance  Company. 
The  defendant  unsuccessfully  moved  a  continuance.  But 
the  distinguishing  feature  was  the  speed  with  which  trial 
was  brought  on  after  issue  joined.  The  man  insured  died 
the  last  of  February.  Proof  of  death  was  submitted 
March  loth;  suit  was  begun  and  summons  served  early  in 
June,  and  we  listened  to  the  trial  July  22d;  which  to  me 
seems  commendable  diligence  in  the  administration  of 
justice. 

To  each  of  the  court  rooms  is  a  gallery,  admission  to 
which  is  gained  from  a  corridor  above,  through  a  corridor 
bailiff  who  has  charge  of  the  galleries  of  several  court  rooms. 

Altogether  these  courts  impressed  me  very  favorably. 
I  could  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  be  able  to  practice 
successfully  in  them,  except,  perhaps,  the  lack  of  clients. 


Cake  (Tountr?  an6  Scotland 

EDINBURGH,  SCOTLAND,  July  31. 
Sweet  Daughter: 

I  send  with  this  another  of  those  leaden  letters  which 
treat  as  heretofore.  This  morning  I  got  to  work  at  six  and 
evolved  the  description  of  the  London  courts.  All  this 
letter  is  of  great  interest  to  me,  so  now  I  am  just  wondering 
if  you  and  Tom  can  read  it  without  yawning.  Myrtle,  I 
like  England,  the  country  and  the  people.  We  have  met 
nothing  but  consideration  and  politeness  all  around  and 
everywhere  and  by  all  classes.  I  have  been  particularly 
fortunate  in  meeting  educated  men,  such  as  librarians, 
superintendents  of  museums  and  galleries,  whom  I  was  glad 
to  get  acquainted  with,  and  who  certainly  showed  they  were 
glad  to  meet  me.  So  English  travel  is  ahead. 

I  think  I  wrote  from  Stratford  Sunday.  It  is  now 
Wednesday  eve.  Monday  we  came  up  to  Birmingham,  a 
great  manufacturing  town,  crowding  half  a  million.  The 
day  was  cloudy,  half  inclined  to  rain,  just  foggy  enough  so 
you  couldn't  see  more  than  a  block  away;  rode  on  top  of 
street  cars  for  two  hours  and  concluded  we  had  seen  enough 
of  Birmingham;  then  took  cars  for  Liverpool,  a  town  of 
three-quarters  of  a  million.  Here  also  we  took  in  the  sights 
from  the  top  of  an  electric  street  car,  as  we  find  that  is  the 
most  satisfactory  way,  as  up  so  high  nothing  obstructs  the 
view.  In  one  direction  we  came  to  the  end  of  buildings 
and  an  iron  fence  and  gateway  barred  driving,  but  a  small 


312 


LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 


gate  admitted  pedestrians.  Beyond  the  gate  stretched  wide 
lawns  of  hundreds  of  acres  and  beyond  that  lovely  grass 
and  charming  landscapes,  and  I  thought,  how  liberal  is  the 
corporation  of  Liverpool  to  her  people  to  furnish  such 
magnificent  parks  and  playgrounds.  But  I  inquired  what 
was  the  nature  of  the  domain  and  found  it  was  the  property 
of  Lord  Derby,  and  the  people  of  Liverpool  with  whom  I 
talked  seemed  tickled  to  death  that  they  had  a  live  lord  so 
close  by  capable  of  putting  on  so  much  political  and  social 
dog. 

If  they  like  it,  I  think  I  can  stand  it,  but  just  now  I 
don't  see  anything  in  it  that  would  make  it  desirable  to 
be  a  lord.  To  be  a  great  commoner  would  be  my  ambition 
if  I  were  an  Englishman. 

We  stayed  in  Liverpool  Monday  night.  The  next 
morning  we  got  off  for  Lake  Windemere,  in  the  English 
hills,  where  we  took  a  little  steamer  to  the  upper  end  of  the 
lake,  ten  miles  to  Ambleside,  then  at  4  p.  M.  took  the  top  of 
a  tallyho  coach  for  a  seventeen-mile  drive  through  the  hills 
to  Keswick,  passing  the  smallest  church  in  England.  In 
the  churchyard  lie  buried  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge;  your 
mother  and  Harriet  stopped  to  wipe  away  an  imaginary 
tear  or  two;  I  stayed  by  the  coach. 

We  reached  Keswick  at  seven,  landing  at  a  charming 
hotel  with  ample  gardens  and  grounds,  on  the  outskirts  of 
a  stone-built  town.  Then  in  the  morning  we  started  for 
this  place,  lying  over  at  Carlisle,  a  town  of  50,000,  for  two 
hours,  reaching  here  at  4:30  P.  M. 

We  spent  over  two  days  in  Edinburgh,  taking  in  the 
whole  city  in  our  usual  way  the  first  day.  It  is  rather  a  queer 


THE  LAKE   COUNTRY  AND   SCOTLAND        313 

city — the  finest  street  is  Princess  Street,  extending  for  a 
mile.  On  one  side  are  nice  stores,  on  the  other,  a  row  of 
trees  and  a  park  with  an  imposing  monument  in  memory  of 
Walter  Scott,  also  other  monuments.  This  is  on  a  level; 
then  the  park  continues  on  down  a  deep  gulch  or  canon, 
with  the  railroad  running  through  the  middle  of  it  length- 
wise— then  beyond  there  is  an  abrupt  rise,  and  the  city  piles 
up  on  the  other  side  some  like  San  Francisco,  and  on  the 
highest  peak  looms  up  the  old  castle,  as  guardian  of  the  city. 
It  is  in  a  good  state  of  preservation  and  new  buildings  have 
been  added  and  all  used  as  soldiers'  barracks  and  a  fort,  for 
fort  is  what  it  really  is,  and  what  all  of  the  old  castles  were 
built  for.  Bridges  and  filled-up  roadways  take  the  travel 
across  this  gulch,  and  then  there  is  a  steep  hill  to  climb. 
The  second  day  we  drove  to  Calton  Hill,  where  are  monu- 
ments and  an  observatory,  and,  when  clear,  a  good  view  of 
the  city,  but  it  was  quite  smoky  while  we  were  there;  then 
on,  not  far,  to  Holyrood,  where  stood  the  castle  of  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots. 

The  original  castle  was  destroyed  by  fire,  except  the 
part  containing  Queen  Mary's  and  Lord  Darnley's  rooms, 
and  the  old  chapel.  The  castle  has  been  rebuilt  and  joins 
the  portion  saved  from  the  fire.  There  was  very  little  in 
these  rooms  except  the  old  high-post  bedsteads — the  covers 
and  canopies  were  on  the  beds,  but  so  worn  they  were  just 
ready  to  fall  in  pieces — a  little  old  furniture  and  a  few  pic- 
tures on  the  walls,  and  Rizzio's  blood-stain  on  the  floor; 
then  a  long  gallery  with  portraits  of  all  the  old  Scottish 
kings — but  we  had  lost  interest  in  castles  and  palaces. 
'Then  we  must  take  the  "Queen's  Drive,"  a  good  roadway 


3i4  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

which  winds  up  to  the  top  of  a  high  hill  called  "King 
Arthur's  Seat,"  but  there  were  no  trees  or  shrubbery,  not 
even  a  bit  of  heather  or  a  Scotch  thistle  on  the  way;  then 
back  through  a  very  old  part  of  the  city  where  was  John 
Knox's  house  and  hi?  church  adjoining,  passing  a  monument 
to  Robert  Burns.  In  England  the  dividing  lines  were  all 
hawthorne  hedges,  in  Scotland  they  are  all  stone  walls. 
The  houses  are  of  gray  sandstone. 

Returning  to  town,  we  were  driven  up  to  the  castle,  over 
which  we  wandered,  climbing  the  stairs  to  the  highest  part 
for  the  view.  In  the  "crown  room"  was  a  large  glass  case 
protected  by  an  iron  railing,  in  which  was  a  red  velvet 
crown  decorated  with  pearls  and  rubies,  a  gold  sceptre  and 
other  jewels;  these  had  been  hidden  when  Scotland  was 
united  to  England  and  lay  for  a  hundred  years  in  an  old 
oaken  chest,  which  now  stands  at  one  side  of  the  room.  In 
a  very  small  room  near-by  Mary  gave  birth  to  James  VI 
in  1566. 

Having  finished  the  castle,  we  boarded  one  of  the 
many  coaches  that  run  to  the  famous  Forth  Bridge,  nine 
miles  away.  On  the  way  we  were  entertained  by  youths 
turning  handsprings  and  going  through  various  evolutions 
with  the  hope  of  gaining  a  few  pence.  It  was  a  pleasant 
ride  and  the  bridge  was  well  worth  seeing. 

With  love, 

PAPA  NYE. 


On 


ON  BOARD  THE  ETHIOPIA  S.  S.,  Saturday  August  24. 
My  Dear  Uncle  George  : 

As  this  heading  shows,  we  are  pointing  west.  As  long 
ago  as  July  12th  we  booked  for  this  trip,  to  sail  from  Glas- 
gow August  15th.  July  and  August  are  months  when  the 
flight  of  American  tourists  is  strongest,  when  every  berth  is 
engaged  a  month  ahead  of  time  and  rates  are  advanced  25 
per  cent,  unless  you  have  a  round-trip  ticket.  Our  travels 
brought  us  to  Glasgow,  August  3d,  where  we  stayed  until 
the  8th,  taking  the  steamer  that  evening  for  Dublin;  reach- 
ing there  the  next  morning  to  take  in  what  of  Ireland  we 
might  and  intercept  our  New  York  steamer  for  home  at 
Londonderry. 

We  visited  Dublin,  the  homes  of  wealth,  learning,  and 
aristocracy,  a  few  days;  then  to  Belfast,  the  pushing,  thriv- 
ing city  of  Ireland,  with  60,000  linen-  workers  and  9,000 
ship-builders,  the  greatest  of  her  industries;  then  on  to 
the  Giant's  Causeway,  and  then  to  Londonderry,  the  Protest- 
ant city  of  the  north,  also  largely  a  linen  and  ship-building 
town,  but  less  in  size  than  either  of  the  others.  We  got  our 
ship  as  advertised  at  Londonderry,  the  day  after  she  left 
Glasgow. 

The  first  three  days  we  had  fair  weather,  but  a  strong 
head  wind  and  cold;  then  one  rainy  day;  then  one  day  of 
fog,  and  now  two  days  of  a  "summer  sea."  Today  has 
been  whale  day,  as  seven  have  shown  themselves  thus  far. 


316  LETTERS  OF  TRAVEL 

We  expect  it  to  be  an  eleven  days'  trip.  Our  boat  is  ample 
and  comfortable — not  a  greyhound  of  the  sea,  only  about 
4,000  tonnage,  but  ample  staterooms  and  excellent  table 
service  and  only  74  passengers.  Captain  and  all  hands 
Scotch,  and  nice,  courteous,  and  kind. 

A  few  sort  of  scowl  because  they  lose  so  much  time 
on  the  ocean.  I  don't.  I  am  getting  a  needed  rest.  This 
thing  of  pushing  through  a  tourist  trip  "on  time"  is  no 
holiday  picnic,  if  one  tries  to  improve  his  opportunities,  and 
tries  to  see  and  learn  something.  It  is  simply  hard  work, 
and  continuous  and  every  day. 

Yours  ever, 

STEPHEN  G.  NYE. 

NEW  YORK,  August  28. 

P.  S. — We  reached  New  York  last  night  after  a  delight- 
ful voyage,  glad  to  see  the  home  land,  and  glad  that  we  made 
the  trip,  as  the  discomforts  are  soon  forgotten  and  only  the 
pleasures  and  things  of  interest  and  profit  will  remain  in 
memory,  and  these  we  will  live  over  and  enjoy  while  life 
lasts. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THE  FAMILY— 1892 


on 
Ancient:  an6 


Central  Florida  an6lfts  Ol6-Z3ime 
Orange  (Proves* 

By  Central  Florida  I  mean  that  portion  of  Orange 
County  which  I  have  seen,  and  situate  two  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  south  of  Jacksonville.  The  way  thence  is 
worthy  of  mention.  Until  within  a  few  years  all  this 
region  was  reached  by  steamers  on  the  St.  John's;  thence, 
inland  by  mail  stage  twice  a  week,  the  stage  consisting  of 
a  springless  Florida  wagon.  Now  there  is  a  railroad 
parallel  with  the  river  to  Palatka,  whence  the  river  takes 
you  two  hundred  miles  to  Sanford,  and  thence  a  narrow- 
gauge  railroad  runs  here  to  Orlando,  and  on  to  Tampa  Bay, 
its  objective  point  on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico;  a  shipping  place 
to,  and  coming  to  be  on  the  recognized  line  of  travel  from, 
Havana,  the  Bahamas  and  Key  West. 

A  daylight  ride  on  the  St.  John's  is  an  event  to  be 
remembered  for  a  lifetime.  The  luxury  of  travel  is  by 
river  steamer.  In  June  next  a  railroad  will  be  completed 
from  Jacksonville  to  Tampa,  thus  dispensing  entirely  with 
the  steamboat  as  a  necessary  element  of  travel  in  this  part 
of  the  State.  The  St.  John's  will  soon  be  as  effectually 
abolished  commercially  as  has  been  the  Mississippi. 


*  During  a  trip  through  the  Southern  States,  which  he  took  with  his 
family  in  the  year  1885,  Judge  Nye  wrote  a  number  of  letters,  which  were 
printed  by  a  newspaper  published  in  his  home  town.  This  letter,  which 
was  written  from  Orlando,  Fla.,  in  the  month  of  March,  is  a  good  speci- 
men of  the  series. 


320        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND  LECTURE 

Were  it  not  that  time  is  money,  and  money  the  main 
thing  in  this  hurrying  life  we  lead,  it  seems  as  if  the  charm- 
ing, wild,  semi-tropical  luxuriance  and  silence  of  this  quiet 
stream  ought  to  be  kept  as  a  sort  of  safety-valve  to  the 
nervous  energy  of  our  style  of  life,  and  we  be  compelled  to 
"go  slow"  and  enjoy  it.  Under  the  methodical  life  of  a 
high  civilization,  where  the  fate  of  finance  and  even  of 
States  depends  upon  exactitude  and  promptness,  people  will 
rely  upon  the  greater  certainty  of  the  railroad  with  its 
omnipresent  attendant,  the  telegraph;  for  the  river  plays 
fantastic  tricks  with  appointments.  A  hidden  snag  liter- 
ally lets  the  bottom  out  of  the  steamboat,  or  the  purser  plays 
pilot  and  runs  his  boat  hard  on  to  a  sand-bar,  there  to  remain 
for  hours  or  days. 

This  river  is  peculiar.  For  the  first  hundred  miles  or 
more  from  the  ocean  it  maintains,  at  the  narrowest,  a  half 
mile  width,  enlarging  in  places  to  double  that  size,  and  in 
many  other  places  assuming  the  proportions  of  a  lake. 
The  largest  of  these  is  Lake  George,  fifteen  miles  long  by 
eight  wide.  On  these  broad  bodies  of  water  the  breeze  is 
always  fresh  and  cool,  however  tropical  the  heat  a  few  miles 
inland.  Farther  up,  the  river  dwindles  to  a  narrow  stream, 
whose  windings  are  so  tortuous  that  skillful  pilotage  alone 
can  save  a  steamer  from  climbing  the  bank.  A  few  miles 
farther  it  again  enlarges  and  once  more  appears  a  placid, 
spacious  lake.  Along  the  river  border  to  the  water's  edge 
for  the  most  of  the  distance  is  a  solid  wall  of  living  green, 
made  up  of  magnolias,  water  oaks,  willows,  cypress,  reeds 
resembling  the  canebrake,  together  with  the  tangled  vines 
and  rank  vegetation  peculiar  to  a  warm  climate  and  a 


CENTRAL  FLORIDA'S  ORANGE  GROVES   321 

swampy  soil.  Occasionally  this  green  wall  disappears  and 
the  view  extends  back  over  broad  savannas  covered  with 
coarse  grass  similar  to  the  tules  of  the  Sacramento,  and  in 
the  far  background  the  pines  upon  the  higher  land;  for  all 
along  the  river  at  varying  distance  appear  the  pines,  which 
mean  a  sandy  and  a  drier  soil;  and  where  the  pines  project 
to  the  river,  because  of  the  convenience  of  Nature's  great 
highway,  men  have  made  landings,  and  set  up  saw-mills 
and  felled  the  forest,  and  planted  the  orange,  and  built  them 
homes. 

All  the  oldest,  largest,  and  most  productive  of  the 
orange  groves  are  along  the  rivers,  because  of  all  crops  the 
orange  must  have  bountiful  provision  for  shipment.  An  acre's 
cotton  crop  can  be  crowded  into  the  compass  of  a  few  cubic 
feet,  but  the  yield  of  an  acre  of  an  old  orange  grove  requires 
the  capacity  of  several  cars.  In  some  places  there  are  open- 
ings of  the  cabbage  palmetto,  a  tree  resembling  the  date 
palm,  reaching  the  height  of  fifty  feet  and  useful  for  piles. 
Its  cousin,  the  scrub  palmetto,  is  a  scrub  indeed,  never  rising 
over  three  feet  from  the  ground  and  covering  it  completely 
and  as  thorny  as  a  cactus. 

I  watched  with  commendable  zeal  for  the  alligators 
and  huge  serpents  said  to  abound  along  the  banks  of  Florida 
rivers.  The  truth  of  history  must  be  vindicated;  I  saw  but 
a  single  alligator.  While  watching  from  the  steamer's 
bow  the  whistle  awoke  him  from  his  siesta  in  the  warm 
sand,  and  he  complacently,  leisurely,  and  with  dignity 
dragged  himself  to  the  water  and  disappeared  beneath  it. 
I  never  fished  for  trout;  therefore  my  statement  is  entitled 
to  credence;  the  animal  was  fully  twelve  feet  long. 


322        ADDITIONAL   LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

Sunset  on  the  St.  John  ought  to  be  the  subject  of  a 
noble  painting;  but  no  cunning  in  the  artist's  hand  can  do 
justice  to  the  shifting  views  of  an  hour.  He  can  catch  but 
the  beauty  of  the  moment,  and  each  successive  moment 
reveals  a  new  beauty  more  wondrous  still.  Toward  night- 
fall the  wind  entirely  dies  away,  and  a  perfect  hush  falls  on 
forest  and  stream,  disturbed  only  by  the  plash  of  the 
steamer's  paddles,  and  away  back  floats,  like  a  widow's  veil, 
the  black  smoke.  A  few  rods  in  advance  the  cedars  upon 
the  banks  are  duplicated,  with  inverted  heads,  in  the  perfect 
mirror  of  the  placid  river,  while  the  slanting  rays  of  the 
western  sun  make  it  a  sea  of  burnished  silver.  A  little  later, 
and  it  is  changed  to  molten  gold;  and  as  the  shadows  of  the 
night  creep  on  it  becomes  a  leaden  plain,  and  then  a  sea  of 
ink,  relieved  only  by  the  long  line  of  silver  foam  in  the 
steamer's  wake  and  the  darker  shadows  of  the  adjacent  for- 
est. Then  all  around  us  was  the  soft,  warm  sky  and  air, 
and  the  darkness  which  wrapped  us  round,  like  rich  drapery, 
with  a  sense  of  comfort  and  perfect  repose.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  in  an  hour  like  this,  with  such  surroundings,  for  him 
who  should  possess  the  true  artistic  spirit,  and  could  evoke 
from  the  canvas  the  shadow  of  this  great  reality,  there 
existed  here  the  material  for  the  artist's  great  work,  the 
fame  of  which  would  in  after  life  enable  him  to  sing  with 
Horace,  "I  have  builded  me  a  monument  more  enduring 
than  brass." 

Florida  for  several  years  has  been  as  wild  concerning 
oranges  as  Southern  California — or  as  Northern  California 
on  orchards  and  vineyards;  and  the  same  results  have  fol- 
lowed. Lands  intrinsically  worthless  have  risen  to  a 


CENTRAL  FLORIDA'S   ORANGE  GROVES       323 

fabulous  value.  City  and  town  sites  exist  wherever  there 
is  a  railroad  completed  or  projected  and  a  charming  blue 
lake  shows  itself.  There  are  many  towns  that  have  made  a 
rapid  growth  in  a  few  years.  Most  remarkable,  perhaps, 
of  all  is  this  town  of  Orlando.  For  thirty  years  it  has  been 
the  county  seat  of  Orange  County,  the  richest  in  the  State. 
Five  years  ago  it  had  a  wooden  courthouse  and  jail,  four 
stores  facing  the  courthouse  square,  a  cross-roads  tavern — 
that  was  all.  Four  years  ago  a  narrow-gauge  railroad  was 
built;  it  brought  the  stranger  as  far  as  he  could  go,  and  he 
came  and  stayed.  Twenty-five  hundred  people  are  here 
now;  they  claim  three  thousand.  It  has  three  large  and 
well-equipped  livery  stables,  one  ice  and  two  wagon  fac- 
tories, a  public  and  a  private  school,  four  markets,  about 
thirty  stores,  two  planing  mills,  an  opera  house,  a  skating 
rink,  four  churches,  besides  numerous  hotels,  boarding- 
houses  and  real  estate  agencies.  It  bears  the  marks  of  a 
new  town;  pine  stumps  stand  in  dooryards.  Where  I  sit 
is  two  blocks  from  the  center;  within  a  block  the  other  way 
stand  forest  trees.  Although  hotels  and  homes  and  young 
orange  groves  are  scattered  among  the  pines  along  the  edges 
and  within  sight  of  the  fascinating  lakes  for  miles  beyond, 
lots  are  held  as  high  as  in  cities  of  forty  thousand  people. 
Unimproved  lands  within  two  miles  of  the  courthouse  are 
held  at  from  $40  to  $700  per  acre.  Climate  and  situation 
are  sold  by  the  square  rod  and  the  land  thrown  in. 

Every  art  and  inducement  to  purchase  is  thrown 
around  the  stranger.  On  the  arrival  of  each  train  he  is  met 
by  the  real  estate  agent  and  urged,  begged,  and  solicited  to 
take  a  ride  and  be  shown,  without  charge,  the  town  and  its 


324        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

surroundings.  Cigars  are  tendered  to  smokers,  but  drinks, 
never.  Oakland  real  estate  agents  would  blush  at  their  im- 
perfect methods  were  they  to  witness  the  more  polished 
science  of  their  Florida  brethren.  Six  or  seven  firms  here 
keep  elegant  turnouts  of  double-seated  carriages,  which  are  at 
your  service  at  any  time  and  place,  with  an  attendant  guide ; 
and  he  who  is  proof  against  such  blandishments  must  be 
very  obdurate,  or  very  short  of  coin;  or  must  have  had  an 
Oakland  experience  in  the  flush  times  of  1875. 

Orlando  is  a  bustling,  active  business  town,  with  that 
dash,  energy,  and  good-fellowship  characteristic  of  new  and 
growing  American  cities.  It  has  many  things  to  learn,  and 
thus  far  has  builded  for  the  present.  Outside  of  the  county 
jail  and  the  7x9  recorder's  office,  there  is  not  a  brick  edifice 
in  the  town,  although  three  are  now  being  built.  It  has  no 
waterworks,  no  sewerage,  no  graded,  paved  or  macadamized 
streets,  and  no  fire  department.  It  is  built  of  pitch  pine, 
rich  in  resin;  some  breezy  day  a  stray  match  or  an  innocent 
cigar  stub  will  get  in  its  work,  and  Orlando  will  be  no  more. 
Then  will  begin  a  new  city  of  brick  and  iron ;  the  steam  fire 
engine  will  watch  over  it;  the  Holly  system  of  waterworks 
will  keep  an  abundance  of  water  ever  ready  from  one  of  its 
clear,  pure  lakes;  capacious  sewers  will  purify  the  air;  and 
in  its  setting  of  groves  of  emerald  and  gold,  and  the  sparkle 
of  its  bright  blue  waters,  will  stand  the  new  city,  worthy 
of  its  beautiful  surroundings,  and  its  last  days  will  be  bet- 
ter than  its  first.  Experience  teaches  a  dear  school. 

I  asked  Mr.  Lucky  (suggestive  name),  who  has  been 
here  thirty-five  }^ears,  how  many  men  within  two  miles  of 
Orlando  made  their  living  from  the  productions  of  the  soil. 


CENTRAL  FLORIDA'S   ORANGE  GROVES       325 

He  counted  seven.  Before  the  advent  of  the  Yankee  they 
all  did.  His  coming  doubled  the  values  of  real  property 
so  rapidly,  and  made  the  native's  earnings  seem  so  mean, 
that  they  sold  some  of  their  soil  and  took  to  living  at  the 
groceries.  Here,  of  course,  there  are  few  orange  groves  old 
enough  to  be  of  prolific  bearing;  because,  until  recently,  it 
had  been  beyond  the  reach  of  ready  transportation. 

Scattered  all  through  this  part  of  Florida  one  finds  the 
old  settler's  log  house,  with  its  mud  and  stick  chimney  out- 
side the  gable,  located  on  high  ground  for  healthfulness, 
overlooking  a  lake  for  convenience  of  access  to  water  and 
for  abundance  of  fish ;  and  adjoining  it  a  clearing  on  the  low, 
richer  hummock  lands,  where  grow  his  rice,  corn,  cotton, 
sugarcane,  and  sweet  potatoes,  and  about  the  house  from  six 
to  two  hundred  orange  trees,  thickly  set,  without  order,  for 
shade  and  fruit,  and  from  ten  to  thirty  years  of  age.  And 
when  the  history  of  these  old  groves  is  hunted  up,  it  was 
always  the  wife  who  planted  the  seed  and  tilled  the  ground 
and  protected  the  trees  from  marauding  stock  and  silently 
submitted  to  the  jeers  of  the  household  about  "them  thar 
trees" ;  and  watched  and  waited  and  hoped  through  the  long 
years,  and  nursed  her  children  under  their  grateful  shade, 
until  watching  and  waiting  was  repaid  by  the  golden  fruit- 
age, and  household  jeers  were  heard  no  more  and  her  little 
grove  became  the  acknowledged  beauty-spot  amid  the  glar- 
ing sands  and  sighing  pines.  And  when  the  man  comes  from 
the  frozen  North,  impatient  of  the  weary  watching  and 
waiting  for  the  growth  of  his  own  grove,  and  offers  for  their 
home  a  few  thousands,  to  them  who  in  a  lifetime  have  never 


326        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

seen  more  than  a  few  hundreds,  these  few  thousands  seem 
more  than  the  millions  of  Stanford  or  Vanderbilt. 

In  a  primitive  cart,  drawn  by  an  attenuated,  long- 
horned  Florida  steer,  in  straight-backed  splint  chairs  sit  the 
owner  and  his  wife;  he,  with  grizzled  hair  and  beard  and 
saddle-colored  complexion,  smoking  a  cob  pipe,  with  the 
guiding  rope  in  one  hand  and  the  ox-goad  in  the  other;  she, 
with  saddened  face  concealed  by  an  ample  calico  sun-bonnet 
— both  silent,  and  on  their  way  to  sign  the  deed.  It  is 
finally  executed.  She  acknowledges  to  the  notary  that  she 
executed  the  deed,  "freely  and  voluntarily,  and  without 
fear  or  compulsion  of  her  husband";  but  as  she  wipes  her 
streaming  eyes  with  her  apron,  she  remarks :  "It's  a  power 
of  money  for  the  old  place;  but  thar's  Tom  and  Bud  and 
Sis;  it's  many  a  time  I've  rocked  'em  to  sleep  when  they  wuz 
babies  under  them  orange  trees." 

A  few  weeks  later  a  few  miles  farther  on  in  the  forest 
the  woodman's  ax  is  heard,  a  new  cabin,  with  its  mud  and 
stick  chimney  has  gone  up,  a  small  clearing  is  made,  a  grove 
of  small  orange  trees  is  planted,  and  the  old  couple  begin 
life  anew.  There  is  romance  in  the  history  of  these  old 
orange  groves;  happy  they  whose  groves  have  not  mingled 
in  their  history  tragedy  with  the  romance.  Henceforth  I 
shall  look  reverently  on  the  old  orange  tree  of  Central 
Florida. 


following  TCcttcr  from  Uu&ge  3t?c.  to  3fis  TDaugfyter, 
n  Visiting  In  Stew  ^ork,  I5clls  of  3fis 
of  Mlin&  on  tye  }&ocr-!fcritisl)  War 


A/T    T-V       TT      •  *  OAKLAND,  March  o,  1000. 

My  Dear  Harriet  : 

In  one  of  your  letters  you  wrote  of  Uncle  Robert's 
views  on  the  South  African  war  —  how  he  felt  convinced 
that  British  victory  and  Boer  defeat  are  along  the  lines  of 
advancing  civilization  and  the  world's  progress.  Just  a 
few  nights  before,  I  had  attended  a  pro-Boer  meeting  at 
Germania  Hall.  There  was  a  great  crowd  and  I  was  one 
of  the  speakers  ;  the  Mayor  and  Joaquin  Miller  were  others, 
and  there  were  many  more.  Don't  you  know,  since,  I  have 
been  thinking  and  reading,  and  reading  and  thinking,  and 
conviction  compels  me  to  go  back  on  the  Boer.  It  does  not 
follow  that  because  the  Transvaal  and  the  Orange  Free 
State  are  republics,  that  therefore  Americans  must  sym- 
pathize with  and  stand  by  them  in  their  rebellion.  A 
monarchy  or  an  autocracy  enlightened  and  well  adminis- 
tered may  be  more  beneficent  than  a  rude,  ignorant  republic, 
swayed  by  bigotry  and  prejudice.  Originally,  Cape  Colony 
was  a  Dutch  colony,  but  long  ago  Holland  sold  out  to  Eng- 
land, and  England  claimed  the  people  with  the  land.  The 
Dutchman  took  another  view  of  it.  He  refused  to  be  sold, 
and  so  he  treked  northward.  Fighting  lions  and  Zulus  in 
front  and  the  English  behind  kept  him  sleeping  with  one 
eye  open,  and  made  him  mighty  handy  with  a  gun.  The 


328  LETTERS   OF  TRAVEL 

Boers  were  Protestants.  A  large  branch  of  them  were 
remnants  of  the  pestilent  Huguenots,  who  actually  at- 
tempted to  escape  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew's  day 
and  fled  to  Holland,  and  thence  colonized  South  Africa. 
They  were  stubborn  and  unprogressive  in  their  religion  and 
refused  to  adopt  the  Catholic  faith,  and  the  Catholics 
represented  the  progress  and  enlightenment  of  that  day 
as  the  English  do  of  today.  Whom  they  couldn't  convert, 
they  killed.  Poor  benighted  Boers!  Why  should  they 
pray  and  read  their  Bibles  and  trust  in  God?  Why  didn't 
they  trust  in  the  English? 

It  is  charged  that  the  Boers  are  boors  indeed — unsocial, 
uncouth,  uncultured,  unlettered,  and  in  this  age  unneces- 
sary; hence  they  ought  to  yield  their  government,  their 
freedom  and  their  country  to  the  polite  and  cultured  Eng- 
lishman, and  admit  British  culture  and  British  cannon; 
British  lead  and  British  learning;  British  bombs  and  British 
blessings,  all  mixed  ready  for  use. 

The  Boers  are  bigoted  beyond  endurance.  Lately  it 
was  discovered  they  had  rich  mines.  When  English 
fortune-hunters  invaded  their  territory,  the  Boer  govern- 
ment required  a  five  per  cent  contribution  to  the  government 
for  the  privilege  of  mining.  England  kicks,  and  justly. 
True,  it  is  the  universal  law  of  nations  that  mines  are  the 
property  of  the  government,  and  the  right  to  mine  the 
precious  metals  emanates  from  the  government  alone.  In 
the  United  States  are  patent  laws  for  mines;  Russia  retains 
in  her  government  a  monopoly  of  the  issues  of  the  mines; 
Rhodesia,  governed  by  that  great  and  good  and  benevolent 
man,  Cecil  Rhodes,  levies  for  the  use  of  the  government 


THE  BOER-BRITISH  WAR  329 

(that  is,  himself)  50  per  cent  of  the  issues  of  the  mines; 
and  in  British  Columbia,  by  act  of  the  Provincial  Parlia- 
ment, none  but  a  British  subject  may  do  placer  mining. 
But  it  is  a  different  thing  with  the  Boers.  With  no  capacity 
for  the  enjoyment  of  wealth,  the  right  to  acquire  or  retain 
it  belongs  only  to  him  who  can  enjoy  it,  to  wit,  the  British. 

And  especially  should  the  mining  riches  of  these 
ignorant  Boers  be  surrendered  to  the  control  of  such  en- 
lightened statesmen  as  Cecil  Rhodes,  whose  stock  jobbing 
management  of  the  De  Beers  diamond  mines,  abetted  by 
the  speculative  Joseph  Chamberlain  and  his  kind,  has  beat 
the  record  of  the  wildest  kind  of  wildcat  mining  history 
since  the  world  began. 

And  did  you  ever  think  what  a  strange  parallelism 
there  has  been  in  Boer  and  American  history4?  Paul 
Kruger  prophesied  that  the  expenditure  of  life  and 
treasure  would  stagger  the  civilized  world.  He  has  often 
announced  that  the  Boers  would  welcome  death  rather 
than  be  defeated  in  this  contest.  He  appeals  to  a  just 
God,  the  arbiter  of  nations.  What  was  it  Patrick  Henry 
said?  "I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take,  but  as 
for  me,  give  me  liberty  or  give  me  death."  Sentiment 
pretty  much  the  same,  isn't  it? 

The  Boer  is  uncouth  and  unlearned;  so  was  the 
American  at  the  close  of  the  Revolution.  It  is  said  that 
the  Father  of  His  Country  never  wrote  a  letter  correctly 
.spelled.  It  was  then  only  a  short  time  since  we  had  been 
hanging  witches.  We  developed  into  a  great  people. 

But  when  we  come  to  look  back  over  American  history 
in  this  new  light  what  an  awful  mistake  it  has  been! 


330        ADDITIONAL   LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

How  we  ought  to  wish  we  had  never  rebelled!  Let  the 
blush  of  shame  mantle  the  American  cheek  at  the  memory 
of  the  Boston  Tea  Party.  Why  did  we  try  to  sneak  out 
of  paying  a  just  tariff  to  a  beneficent  and  cherishing  mother 
country?  And  there  was  Concord  and  Bunker  Hill  and 
the  Liberty  Bell  and  the  Declaration  of  Independence  and 
the  Brandywine  and  Saratoga  and  Yorktown — these  were 
the  mistakes  of  the  ages. 

Let  the  schoolbooks  be  revised  and  these  pages  be 
effaced.  They  stood  in  the  way  of  British  progress.  Let 
the  red  flush  of  shame  stain  the  cheek  of  every  American 
when  he  recalls  the  base  ingratitude  of  our  fathers  to  rebel 
against  such  a  mother. 

My  dear  daughter,  on  your  mother's  side  the  paternal 
ancestor,  John  Mack,  was  a  rebel;  the  paternal  ancestor 
went  back  to  a  Foster,  who  was  a  rebel,  and  twelve  more  of 
his  traitorous  brood  were  rebels,  too.  And  on  your  father's 
side  his  maternal  ancestor  traces  her  blood  to  Judge  Ellis, 
a  rebel,  and  the  paternal  ancestor  goes  back  to  Major  Ben 
Nye  and  six  brothers,  all  rebels  in  the  scrimmage  at  Bunker 
Hill.  How  can  you  be  proud  of  your  ancestry*? 

And  what  about  Longfellow,  and  Whittier,  and 
Lowell,  and  Emerson  and  all  the  rest — apostles  of  rebellion. 
Poor  degenerate  rebels  in  every  fibre  of  their  being.  There 
is  so  much  for  us  benighted  Americans  to  forget  and  so 
much  to  unlearn. 

"All  men  are  created  equal,"  etc. 

(Rot.) 

"America,  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty,"  etc. 

(Aren't  you  ashamed*?) 


THE  BOER-BRITISH  WAR  331 

"Breathes  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
'This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  ?' " 

(You  know  the  rest,  forget  it.) 

And  then  there  is  that  old  dotard,  Wm.  E.  Gladstone 
— when  he  was  Prime  Minister,  after  the  battle  of  Majuba 
Hill,  he  actually  made  peace  with  the  Boers.  The  world 
called  him  the  "Grand  Old  Man."  Should  have  been  tried 
for  treason  and  shot  for  a  traitor.  Wonderful  what  efful- 
gence the  new  light  sheds. 

"Take  heart,  O  soul  of  sorrow,  and  be  strong, 
There  is  One  greater  than  the  whole  world's  wrong; 
Be  hushed  before  the  high  benignant  power 
That  moves,  wool-shod,  through  sepulcher  and  tower. 
No  truth  so  low,  but  He  will  give  it  crown; 
No  wrong  so  high,  but  He  will  hurl  it  down. 
O  men  that  forge  the  fetter,  it  is  vain; 
There  is  still  a  Hand  stronger  than  your  chain. 
'Tis  no  avail  to  bargain,  sneer,  and  nod, 
And  shrug  the  shoulder  for  reply  to  God." 

(Still  worse!) 

Oh,  how  the  new  light  reaches  back  and  overthrows 
what  we  have  called  the  noble  standards  which  the  world 
has  worshiped — love  of  liberty,  love  of  home  and  country — 
how  they  fade  away  like  foolish  dreams! 

What  do  you  think  of  my  change  of  heart? 
Your  loving  dad, 

STEPHEN  G.  NYE. 


TCetter  to  3fis  <&ran6son,  a    Ca6  of 
Seven 


LUXOR,  UPPER  EGYPT,  March  31,  1901. 
Master  Girard  Nye  Davis, 
Dear  Girard: 

I  must  write  you  a  little  letter,  for  we  are  in  a  strange 
part  of  the  world.  We  landed  from  the  steamer  at  Port 
Said  about  2  P.  M.,  Thursday  (this  is  Sunday),  and  at  3 
we  took  the  choo-choo  cars,  narrow  gauge,  until  dark  right 
alongside  the  great  Suez  Canal,  where  all  the  great  steam- 
ers of  the  world  take  the  short  cut  to  get  into  the  Red  Sea 
to  go  to  China,  Japan,  India,  South  Africa,  and  Australia; 
we  passed  seven  big  steamers  before  dark.  After  sundown 
we  came  to  Ismalia,  where  they  gave  us  a  good  dinner,  then 
we  took  bigger  cars  and  went  on  in  the  dark  to  Cairo,  a  very 
large  city,  where  we  got  to  our  hotel  about  10:30  P.  M.  and 
they  gave  us  nice  large  rooms  with  lots  of  big  mirrors  so  we 
could  see  ourselves  sleep.  The  weather  is  like  Visalia,  very 
hot  in  the  daytime  and  cool  at  night,  so  we  had  a 
delicious,  sweet  sleep,  and  were  rested  and  fresh  next  morn- 
ing. Cairo  is  a  large  city;  more  than  twice  as  many  people 
in  it  as  in  San  Francisco,  and  in  all  kinds  of  dress,  and 
people  of  all  colors.  It  looks  very  funny  to  see  men  and 
boys  dressed  just  in  a  nightgown,  and  with  a  couple  of  yards 
of  white  cloth  wound  around  the  head.  Some  of  the  night- 
gowns are  pure  white,  some  are  striped  red  and  blue,  some 
are  of  nice  silk  and  some  are  awful  dirty.  How  would  you 


LETTER  TO   HIS   GRANDSON  333 

like  to  be  a  little  Egyptian  boy  and  wear  just  a  striped  night- 
gown and  a  turban  or  a  red  fez  cap  with  a  red  tassel  on  it, 
and  go  barefooted?  I  think  if  you  should  go  down- town 
dressed  that  way  everybody  would  say,  "What  little  Egyp- 
tian boy  is  that?"  only  you  wouldn't  be  black  enough  for 
an  Egyptian  boy.  Right  in  front  of  the  hotel  is  a  large  park 
full  of  trees  and  flowers  and  very  beautiful.  After  break- 
fast they  put  us  in  carriages  and  we  drove  around  to  see  all 
the  great  buildings.  They  have  no  churches  in  this  town  as 
we  have — they  are  Mohammedans,  and  instead  of  churches 
they  call  them  mosques,  and  everybody  that  goes  in  has  to 
put  on  sandals  over  his  shoes  to  walk  in.  Just  think, 
Girard,  what  a  grand  picture  I  am  slopping  around  through 
a  mosque  in  slippers  big  enough  to  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep 
in.  But  how  do  you  think  grandpapa  would  look  dressed 
up  in  a  big  striped  silk  nightgown  and  a  red  fez  cap  and  go 
down-town  that  way?  Suppose  you  and  I  try  it  some  day. 
But  the  funniest  things  are  the  little  donkeys,  with  their 
funny  saddles  carrying  big  men  bigger  than  the  donkeys; 
they  have  funny  names:  Yankee  Doodle,  Never  Tire, 
George  Washington,  Abe  Lincoln,  Lovely  Sweet,  etc. 

Yesterday  we  drove  out  of  the  city  several  miles  to  see 
a  famous  old  monolith,  and  the  tree  where  camped  Mary 
and  Joseph  and  the  child  Jesus,  when  they  escaped  from  the 
cruelty  of  Herod  and  went  to  Egypt,  and  the  well  where 
Mary  washed  the  baby's  shirt;  we  rode  through  the  richest 
farming  country  I  ever  saw.  They  raise  everything ;  besides 
grain  and  all  kinds  of  vegetables,  tobacco,  sugarcane  and 
cotton  grow  here,  and  such  quantities  of  onions;  and  such 
droves  of  sheep,  goats,  and  cattle;  but  there  are  no  horses 


334        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

outside  of  Cairo,  they  are  only  used  in  the  city  on  carriages. 
This  morning  I  saw  a  stack  of  wheat  bundles,  but  it  moved ; 
finally  I  saw  the  head  and  tail  of  a  camel.  They  pile  a  big 
stack  of  clover  on  their  little  donkeys  so  you  can  see  only 
their  legs  as  they  trot  along.  I  saw  a  little  donkey  just  big 
enough  for  you  to  ride  to  school  on,  and  she  had  a  little 
baby  donkey  just  right  for  Virginia  to  ride.  Had  I  better 
buy  them  and  bring  them  home  to  Antelope?  Last  night 
at  8  o'clock  we  took  the  cars  for  Luxor,  300  miles  from 
Cairo,  and  here  we  are,  with  the  Nile  at  the  back  end  of  the 
garden. 

With  love  from 

GRANDPAPA  NYE. 


in 

Some   *CHme   after   *3fls   Return   front  tlje  ^European 

1Delivere6  before  an  ^Vu&tence  in 
California,  tfye  ^Following  HCecture,  in  Wl)lcl) 
Summe6  l£p  If  is  impressions  of  3\ome 


Two  days  in  Rome!  That  is  my  subject  as  an- 
nounced. It  might  have  better  been  called  "A  day  at 
Hadrian's  villa,  and  another  at  St.  Peter's." 

Before  I  begin  let  me  occupy  a  few  moments  concern- 
ing Rome.  What  has  she  been"?  For  more  than  two  thou- 
sand years  she  has  an  authentic  history.  When  one  gets 
back  of  and  beyond  twenty-five  hundred  years,  mystery  and 
legend  and  miracles  surround  and  envelop  the  beginnings  of 
Rome.  Legend  says  that  Procas,  king  of  that  territory 
known  as  Alba  Longa,  had  two  sons,  Numitor  and  Amulius. 
When  Procas  died  Amulius  seized  the  throne,  rightfully 
belonging  to  Numitor.  Amulius  made  of  Numitor' s 
daughter,  Rhea  Silva,  a  vestal  virgin,  a  sort  of  nun,  to 
watch  and  keep  alive  the  fires  on  the  altar  of  Vesta,  the 
goddess  of  the  hearth  and  home ;  devoted  to  her  worship  and 
to  a  life  of  chastity.  But  this  one,  Rhea  Silva,  bore  twin 
boys — a  miracle.  Their  father  was  said  to  be  Mars,  the 
god  of  war. 

King  Amulius  ordered  the  twins  to  be  thrown  in  the 
Tiber.  It  was  high  water  and  the  basket  in  which  the  boys 
were,  floated  down  stream  to  the  foot  of  the  Palatine  Hill, 
and  a  swirl  in  the  waters  carried  the  basket  up  on  to  solid 


336        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

land.  (Is  this  a  variation  or  another  edition  of  the  story  of 
Moses?)  The  babies  got  hungry.  A  nice  motherly  she- 
wolf  came  along  and  nursed  them  and  took  them  to  her 
cave  in  the  limestone  ledge  and  gave  them  an  even  chance 
with  her  other  whelps.  Later  on  Faustulus,  the  king's 
shepherd,  found  them,  took  them  home  and  brought  them 
up  with  his  boys.  These  twin  boys  were  Romulus  and 
Remus.  Both  Amulius  and  Numitor  were  in  the  live-stock 
business,  and  had  bands  of  cowboys — they  called  them  herds- 
men in  those  days.  These  cowboys  got  into  a  sort  of  Texas 
fight.  Six-shooters  and  Winchesters  they  hadn't  then;  they 
used  bows  and  arrows,  spears  and  shields.  Numitor' s  forces 
made  a  scoop  and  took  Remus  prisoner.  Romulus  gathered 
up  the  cowboys  from  neighboring  ranches  and  raided  his 
grandfather  Numi tor's  ranch,  and  there  learned  his  own 
origin  and  history.  It  resulted  that  Romulus  and  his  men 
dethroned  Amulius  and  put  Numitor  on  the  throne  of  which 
he  had  been  despoiled. 

A  king  then  was  scarcely  more  than  a  "boss"  of  a  first- 
class  cattle  ranch.  The  twin  brothers  prospered  and  started 
to  build  a  city  on  the  Palatine  Hill,  where  they  had  sucked 
wolf's  milk  and  been  reared  by  Faustulus  the  cowboy. 
What  should  they  name  it — the  new  city?  Each  of  the 
boys  wanted  the  honor.  They  left  it  to  the  birds.  Turkey 
buzzards  sailed  above  Palatine  Hill.  They  agreed  that  one 
day  should  be  Remus' s  day  and  the  next  Romulus' s. 
Whichever  day  saw  more  buzzards  floating  over  Palatine 
Hill,  he  should  have  the  naming  of  the  new  city.  Remus's 
day  saw  only  six,  while  Romulus' s  day  twelve  came.  So 
Romulus  had  the  naming  of  the  city,  and  he  named  it 


TWO   DAYS   IN   ROME  337 

Roma,  the  Italian  name  for  Rome.  Romulus  built  a  wall 
around  his  new  city.  One  day  Remus  came  along  and  be- 
gan to  jump  over  the  wall,  then  back  again,  and,  with  a 
sneer,  said  to  his  brother,  "Shall  such  defenses  keep  your 
city?"  It  stung  Romulus  to  such  anger  that  he  thrust  his 
spear  through  his  brother,  and  that  ended  Remus. 

Romulus  would  have  made  a  first-class  modern  real 
estate  boomer.  He  wanted  more  men.  He  had  no  board 
of  supervisors  to  whom  he  could  apply  for  an  appropriation 
to  advertise  and  promote  immigration,  like  our  Oakland 
real  estate  boomers ;  oh,  no,  he  did  things  differently  in  those 
days;  but  "he  got  there"  just  the  same.  He  proclaimed  and 
it  went  abroad  that  his  was  a  city  of  refuge.  Every  man 
who  in  his  own  city  or  country  was  hunted  for  crime  or  for 
political  reasons,  or  ran  away  from  his  creditors,  found  pro- 
tection in  Rome.  So  Rome  grew,  and  there  was  probably 
the  very  choicest  selection  of  rascals  in  the  new  city  ever 
collected  in  so  small  a  space. 

But  they  lacked  one  element.  Women  were  as  scarce 
there  as  on  a  Colorado  cattle  ranch.  Over  on  the  Quirinal 
and  Capitoline  hills  lived  the  Sabines,  a  rival  settlement. 
They  had  plenty  of  cattle  and  an  abundance  of  beautiful 
girls  and  matrons.  Romulus  got  up  games  in  honor  of  Nep- 
tune and  invited  the  Sabines  and  their  families.  In  the 
midst  of  the  fun  a  large  force  of  armed  Roman  cowboys 
rushed  in,  and  each  stole  the  most  comely  maid  or  matron 
he  could  see,  and  carried  her  off  kicking  and  screaming,  and 
another  force  drove  the  unarmed  Sabines  back  to  the 
Quirinal  hills.  War  was  on  after  that,  with  luck  generally 
with  the  robbers.  One  day  at  the  foot  of  the  Palatine  Hill 


338        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

the  battle  was  hot  between  Romans  and  Sabines,  when  these 
women  who  had  been  stolen  rushed  down  between  the  con- 
tending forces  and  begged  them  to  quit  fighting;  and  they 
did.  By  the  terms  of  peace  the  Sabine  women  were  to  be 
restored.  But,  don't  you  know,  not  a  pretty  Sabine  girl 
wanted  to  be  restored  and  wouldn't  go  back;  and  now  for 
about  2,600  years  the  world  has  said  that  when  the  Sabine 
girl  kicked  and  screamed  because  she  found  herself  in  the 
strong  arms  of  the  stalwart  Roman  cowboy  she  wasn't  in 
earnest;  rather  liked  it  and  wanted  to  be  stolen.  And  I 
think  it  is  true  that  those  Sabine  girls  loved  the  brave  ath- 
letes who  dared  to  steal  them  and  then  protect  them  and 
fight  for  them.  Are  girls  that  way  yet?  A  woman  today 
would  rather  be  a  brave  man's  widow  than  a  coward's  wife. 
From  thence  on  Sabines  and  Romans  were  one.  They 
occupied  the  Palatine,  the  Capitoline  and  the  Quirinal  hills. 
Romulus  got  to  be  very  old.  One  day  he  called  a  great 
assembly  on  the  field  of  Mars.  A  terrible  storm  came  up; 
in  the  midst  of  it  he  disappeared — sublimated,  evaporated, 
vanished,  they  never  saw  him  more.  (It  was  the  story  of 
Elijah  repeated,  save  that  there  was  no  mantle,  and  no 
Elisha  on  whom  it  might  fall.  Strange  how  different  coun- 
tries have  like  miracles  in  their  early  histories.)  That  night 
Proculus  Julius  was  on  his  way  from  Alba  to  Rome;  he 
met  Romulus,  who  said  to  him,  "Go  tell  my  people  that  they 
weep  for  me  no  more ;  but  bid  them  to  be  brave  and  warlike ; 
so  shall  they  make  my  city  the  greatest  on  earth."  And  then 
the  people  knew  that  Romulus  had  become  a  god,  and  they 
built  him  a  temple  and  worshipped  him  under  the  name  of 
Quirinus. 


TWO   DAYS   IN   ROME  339 

That  was  the  beginning  of  Rome  and  the  end  of  Romu- 
lus. The  end?  Well,  hardly;  for  in  all  Roman  history, 
art  and  architecture  the  she-wolf  and  the  twins  are  appar- 
ent. The  commonest  ornament  in  Rome  today,  over  the 
lintel  of  doorway  or  window,  or  on  the  pediment  at  the  en- 
trance, chiseled  in  the  clear  Carrara  marble,  is  the  she-wolf 
with  the  curly-headed,  naked  twin  babies,  one  on  either  side, 
contentedly  drawing  sustenance  from  nature's  fount  in- 
tended for  the  baby  whelps  hid  in  the  caves  or  among  rocks. 

Rome  grew.  It  came  to  cover  seven  hills.  It  was  on 
the  Tiber,  a  river  bringing  up  its  current  the  commerce  of 
the  Mediterranean,  and  bringing  from  the  far  interior  the 
produce  of  Italy.  It  is  sixteen  miles  from  the  sea;  its  green 
hills  are  115  feet  high.  For  250  years  or  so  it  was  governed 
by  kings,  then  for  about  500  years  it  was  a  republic  and 
acquired  its  greatest  glory. 

But  the  Romans  did  not  have  a  picnic  all  the  time. 
About  390  B.  C.  the  Gauls,  from  the  forests  of  Germany, 
came  down  on  them  and  destroyed  Rome.  They  besieged 
the  citadel  on  the  Capitoline  Hill  for  seven  months,  and 
finally  the  Romans  bought  them  off  with  a  thousand  pounds 
in  gold,  and  the  Gauls  left,  but  Rome  was  in  ruins  and  had 
to  be  rebuilt.  In  fact,  it  has  been  rebuilt  half  a  dozen  times, 
each  time  more  solidly  and  with  greater  grandeur  than  be- 
fore, and  each  time  the  new  city  was  built  upon  the  ruins 
of  the  old.  For  many  hundred  years  Rome  was  built  mostly 
of  sun-baked  adobe;  then  came  red  brick,  and  then  tufa  or 
lava  rock,  and  finally  limestone  and  marble.  After  the 
republic  came  the  empire,  and  in  the  time  of  Augustus,  I 
think  it  was,  Rome  was  a  city  of  2,000,000  people.  Then 


340        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

it  was  the  capital  of  the  largest  empire  ever  known,  includ- 
ing much  of  Africa,  much  of  Asia,  all  of  Europe  south  of 
the  Rhine,  England  and  Scotland,  but  not  Ireland;  the 
population  was  over  120,000,000.  Well,  hardly  the  larg- 
est, for  there  was  China  with  over  300,000,000. 

Then  came  Christianity,  a  new  power.  Constantine 
was  the  first  Christian  emperor,  and  he  removed  the  capital 
of  the  empire  to  Constantinople.  Rome  dwindled,  and  be- 
tween the  years  700  and  800  it  had  a  population  of  only 
13,000;  at  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century  it  had  grown  to 
35,000.  The  popes  had  got  hold  of  not  only  the  spiritual, 
but  the  temporal  control  of  Rome  by  this  time,  and  the 
church  for  centuries  dictated  the  rule  of  Rome,  and  also 
dictated  who  should  or  should  not  wear  a  crown  throughout 
every  kingdom  in  Europe.  Later  on  the  popes  had  both 
spiritual  and  temporal  power  over  Rome  until  1870,  or 
about  that  time,  when  Victor  Emmanuel  knocked  at  the 
doors  of  the  Vatican  and  demanded  for  Italy  the  govern- 
ment of  Rome;  since  then  the  power  of  the  Vatican  has  been 
a  spiritual  power,  and  Rome  has  been  the  capital  of  modern 
Italy. 

What  I  have  said  seems  to  be  proper,  almost  neces- 
sary, as  a  prelude  to  what  I  am  about  to  say  of  what  I  saw 
of  Rome  in  two  days.  We  were  there  more  than  a  week; 
but  only  of  the  first  two  days'  experiences  shall  I  speak. 
Brindisi  is  the  most  southern  port  of  Italy.  There  our 
steamer  landed  Friday  morning,  May  7th,  last  year.  The 
day  was  spent  on  the  cars  to  Rome ;  and  such  a  day — sunny, 
fresh,  and  beautiful,  the  air  sweet  and  balmy,  it  had  rained 
two  days  before;  the  streams  were  full.  Italy  was  at  her 


TWO   DAYS   IN   ROME  341 

best,  such  a  day  as  I  have  seen  duplicated  how  many  times 
in  California! 

At  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  we  reached  Rome. 
Along  the  broad  electric-lighted  streets,  traversed  by  trolley 
cars,  we  were  driven  to  our  hotel,  a  four  or  five-storied 
structure  built  of  limestone,  with  marble  floors,  walls  and 
stairways,  electric  lights,  and  elevators  (they  call  them 
lifts),  and  all  the  appointments  of  a  first-class  American 
hotel.  The  "lift"  is  so  slow,  however,  that  an  active  per- 
son can  take  the  stairway  and  make  the  trip  from  ground 
floor  to  garret  in  far  less  time.  Next  day  was  Saturday,  and 
when  I  came  to  see  Rome  by  daylight  I  found  it  a  city  of 
500,000  people  and  good  enough  and  modern  enough  for 
an  American  town.  She  owns  her  own  water  works,  gas  and 
electric  lights,  has  an  abundance  of  the  very  best  water  and 
more  fountains  than  any  other  city  on  earth;  street  car  ser- 
vice, two  cents  a  trip;  good  streets,  well  sewered  and  clean, 
and  kept  so  all  day  by  sweepers.  Italy  has  now  compulsory 
education.  Thirty  years  ago  one  in  ten  only  could  read; 
now  only  one  in  ten  can  not.  That  is  what  Victor  Emmanuel 
and  King  Humbert  have  done  for  Italy.  Death  came  to 
both;  to  one  the  natural  way,  to  the  other  by  an  assassin's 
hand. 

Ages  ago  the  Campagna — the  great  plains  around 
Rome,  about  twenty  by  twenty-five  miles — was  the  most 
fertile  and  highly  cultivated  tract  on  earth.  Wars  devas- 
tated and  depopulated  it,  and  for  1,500  years  it  was  a 
wild,  malarious  swamp,  a  menace  to  health  and  life.  Within 
twenty  years  the  government  has  drained  the  great  marshes 
and  set  large  tracts  to  the  Australian  eucalyptus  trees,  and 


342        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

the  country  has  been  changed  from  a  fever-breeder.  So 
now  Rome  is  as  healthful  as  any  other  city  in  the  world. 

Italy  has  had  a  mighty  struggle.  I  saw  in  the  Vati- 
can a  room  used  for  the  storage  of  the  books  of  signatures  of 
14,000,000  Catholics  of  the  world  protesting  against  the 
invasion  of  the  temporal  power  of  the  Pope  in  Rome  by 
Victor  Emmanuel  in  1870;  the  books  were  gotten  up  in  the 
most  elegant  and  costly  form  imaginable  and  were  beautiful 
to  look  at;  I  was  shown  the  books  with  the  California  sig- 
natures; but  they  didn't  stop  the  procession.  King  Victor 
Emmanuel  submitted  to  a  popular  vote  in  Rome  whom  they 
preferred  for  a  governor — the  Pope,  or  the  King.  By  an  im- 
mense majority  the  vote  was  for  the  King.  The  Dago  now 
seems  on  top  to  stay;  and  the  hopeful  part  of  it  is  that  the 
Italian  appreciates  the  new  order  of  things,  with  free 
schools,  awakened  thought  and  increased  intelligence;  and 
he  is  patriotic  and  loyal  to  new  Italy. 

Oh,  Italy!  So  long  the  mistress  of  arms  and  art  and 
letters,  so  long  the  mistress  of  the  world,  again  so  long 
buried  for  how  many  ages,  in  the  sleep  of  ignorance  and 
superstition!  Has  the  resurrection  come  at  last?  I  believe 
it.  I  believe  it. 

Saturday  morning  we  went  by  steam  train  to  Tivoli, 
a  town  of  about  10,000  people,  sixteen  miles  away,  just  at 
the  foothills.  Eighteen  hundred  years  ago  its  name  was 
Tibur.  The  Anis  River  runs  through  it.  In  late  years  they 
have  made  a  tunnel  through  the  mountain  and  diverted  the 
waters  of  this  river  from  its  natural  channel  into  this  tunnel 
through  the  mountain,  and  thus  given  the  water  a  sheer 
fall  of  300  feet  or  so;  and  this  waterfall  is  utilized  to  gen- 


TWO   DAYS   IN   ROME  343 

erate  electricity,  which  runs  the  street  cars  and  electric 
lights  of  Rome  and  the  lights  of  Tivoli,  as  well  as  the  trol- 
ley line  between  Tivoli  and  Rome. 

But  the  object  of  the  trip  was  to  take  in  Hadrian's 
villa.  We  had  had  tombs  and  temples  and  obelisks  and 
pyramids  and  mummies  in  Egypt,  and  prophets  and  birth- 
places and  burial  spots  and  mosques  and  the  true  cross 
(several  of  them),  and  the  holy  manger  and  holy  smoke  and 
sacred  things,  and  dirt  and  beggars  in  Jerusalem  and  Pales- 
tine; and  temples  and  columns,  Doric,  Ionic,  and  Corin- 
thian; the  Parthenon,  the  Acropolis,  Mars  Hill,  Pentelic 
marble,  and  the  like,  in  Greece.  We  had  had  the  grand  old 
smoking  volcano  of  Vesuvius,  and  the  once  buried  city  of 
Pompeii;  but  never  a  villa,  and  we  wanted  one;  we  longed 
for  it ;  and  here  it  was,  only  sixteen  miles  away  from  Rome ; 
what  well  constructed  tourist  who  wouldn't  go  for  it  and 
get  it*?  So  we  did. 

Hadrian  is  dead  now — has  been  dead  a  long  time.  He 
was  born  in  the  year  76  A.  D.  and  died  in  138,  at  the  age 
of  sixty-two  years.  So  when  we  called  at  his  villa,  on  the 
beautiful  May  day,  no  answer  came  when  we  knocked.  But 
when  we  looked  about  and  saw  the  work  of  his  hands  and 
the  charming  home  which  once  was  his — in  ruins  now — 
how  thin  and  how  near  seemed  the  veil  which  parted  us 
from  Hadrian !  Almost  we  could  see  him ;  almost  we  could 
touch  his  hand  across  the  centuries.  It  didn't  seem  such  a 
far  cry  from  1901  to  the  year  101,  when  Hadrian  was  a 
young  man  of  twenty-five. 

Just  a  moment's  review  of  Hadrian's  life  will  not  be 
misspent,  before  we  go  into  his  country  place.  Nerva,  who 


344        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

became  Emperor  of  Rome  in  96,  had  adopted  Trajan  for 
his  successor,  and  Trajan  was  Hadrian's  guardian.  In  98 
Nerva  died.  Trajan  was  then  at  Cologne,  in  Germany,  in 
charge  of  the  Roman  army,  whose  province  it  was  to  keep 
peace  along  the  Rhine  and  the  Danube.  No  telephones  or 
telegraphs  in  those  days;  when  Nerva  died,  Hadrian,  then 
a  young  man  of  twenty-two  years,  was  with  the  army  in 
upper  Germany.  When  the  Roman  courier  brought  the  news 
of  Nerva' s  death,  Hadrian  took  the  message  through  the  for- 
ests of  Germany  down  to  Cologne,  and  was  the  first  to  in- 
form Trajan  that  he  had  become  emperor  by  the  death  of 
Nerva.  Emperor  Trajan  made  Hadrian  his  private  secre- 
tary, and  for  the  nineteen  years  that  Trajan  was  emperor 
he  had  a  war  on  his  hands  either  in  conquering  new  territory 
or  putting  down  rebellion  in  the  provinces ;  Hadrian  was  his 
close  attendant;  what  you  might  call  the  emperor's  "right 
bower." 

So  when  Trajan  died  and  Hadrian  became  emperor,  at 
the  age  of  forty-one,  his  training  and  association  with  the 
most  brilliant  emperor  Rome  ever  had  fitted  him  for  a 
brilliant  career  of  his  own;  and  it  so  turned  out.  Hadrian 
was  emperor  for  twenty-one  years.  For  several  of  the 
first  years  of  his  reign  he  was  at  the  head  of  armies,  and 
visited  every  part  of  his  vast  empire,  not  in  palace  cars  but 
mostly  on  horseback,  and  at  the  head  of  large  armies. 
There  was  no  considerable  city  he  had  not  visited.  He 
traveled  to  the  extreme  north  of  England,  and  there  built 
a  rampart  or  wall  of  earth  through  Northumberland 
County,  the  most  northerly  county  of  England,  sixty  miles 
long,  from  the  Salway  Firth  on  the  west  side  to  the  North 


TWO   DAYS   IN   ROME  345 

Sea  on  the  east  side.  After  several  years  he  gave  up  war- 
fare, made  peace  with  his  enemies,  and  returned  to  Rome. 
He  was  a  man  of  high  culture  and  education,  a  lover  of 
art,  had  seen  the  best,  and  determined  on  having  the  finest 
country  place  in  the  world. 

So  he  pre-empted  a  quarter  section  (there  were  170 
acres  of  it),  four  miles  from  Tivoli,  and  tried  to  copy  a 
villa  he  had  seen  in  Alexandria.  He  wanted  a  valley. 
There  was  none.  So  he  made  one,  and  spread  the  dirt  over 
a  large  space  for  a  high  building  spot.  As  four-fifths  of 
all  the  population  of  Rome  were  slaves,  and  Hadrian  owned 
his  share,  labor  was  cheap — just  board  and  clothes,  that 
was  all;  no  strikes  or  labor  unions  then.  So  he  set  the 
great  army  to  work,  and  he  built  temples  to  the  gods, 
schools  of  philosophy,  a  great  library,  a  theatre,  a  stadium 
for  foot  races,  a  gladiators'  arena,  caves  and  cages  for  wild 
beasts,  a  good-sized  artificial  lake  for  mimic  naval  fights, 
swimming  baths  for  women,  and  others  for  men,  and  still 
others  for  soldiers,  fish  ponds,  pigeon-houses,  conservatories 
for  flowers,  and  grand  and  gorgeous  palaces  till  you 
couldn't  rest;  with  colonnades  of  huge  columns  of  white 
marble  and  black  marble  and  alabaster,  and  these  enclosed 
with  walls  which  are  standing  to  this  day,  some  of  them; 
and  floors  laid  in  mosaics  in  all  sorts  of  designs. 

That  was  the  world's  golden  age  in  sculpture. 
Hadrian  was  a  good  critic;  it  is  said  he  had  over  13,000 
pieces  of  the  rarest  sculpture  scattered  over  and  around  this 
vast  villa.  What  Hadrian  didn't  have  wasn't  worth 
having;  no  flies  on  the  outfit.  Our  Roman  guide  pointed 
out  right  over  across  Hadrian's  artificial  lake,  or  canon, 


346        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

where  Julius  Csesar,  Brutus,  and  Cassius  had  country  places 
more  than  a  century  before.  All  these  environments  were 
to  me  so  interesting  that,  when  I  got  back  to  Rome,  I  wrote 
a  letter  to  my  daughter,  then  in  Oakland,  and  told  how 
probably  Hadrian  had  them  over  to  church  of  a  Sunday  to 
worship  Jupiter,  and  they  stayed  to  dinner,  and  all  got 
warmed  up  with  Hadrian's  good  old  Falernian  wine,  and 
how  they  shook  dice  for  coin,  and  made  a  late  night  of  it 
playing  draw  poker,  and  then  raced  horses  as  they  went  to 
business  at  Rome  when  they  struck  the  Appian  Way,  which 
was  the  Fifth  Avenue  of  that  day,  where  the  "400"  took 
an  airing.  The  daughter  thought  the  letter  funny  enough 
for  print,  and  she  let  it  be  published  in  the  "Oakland 
Enquirer."  An  Elmhurst  young  lady  read  it,  and  said  to 
her  brother:  "Why,  isn't  the  Judge  a  little  off  in  his 
dates  T  "I  don't  know.  How<?"  "As  I  remember  it," 
said  she,  "when  Hadrian  was  a  kid,  Csesar  and  Brutus  had 
been  dead  more  than  a  hundred  years."  The  young  lady's 
criticism  reached  me;  she  was  right.  What  should  I  do*? 
Retract  and  correct*?  No;  I  had  heard  things  of  those 
times  more  remarkable  than  that.  There  is  a  spot  in  Rome 
where  St.  Paul  was  beheaded.  We  are  taught,  on  the 
authority  of  the  Church,  that  when  his  trunkless  head 
struck  the  ground  it  bounded,  struck  the  ground  again, 
bounded  the  second  time,  then  struck  the  ground  and  rested. 
At  each  spot  of  contact  sprang  living  springs,  and  they  are 
running  to  this  day.  The  Church  believes  it  and  teaches 
it,  and  has  built  an  imposing  church  on  the  spot  to  com- 
memorate it.  St.  Denis  is  the  patron  saint  of  France. 
The  legend  is  that  he  was  beheaded;  that  he  rose  from  the 


TWO   DAYS   IN   ROME  347 

block,  picked  up  his  bleeding  head  and  walked  with  it  in  his 
hands  nine  miles,  and  then  gave  up  the  ghost ;  there  is  built 
on  that  very  spot  a  grand  cathedral  to  commemorate  the 
event.  In  the  gallery  of  paintings  at  the  Louvre  in  Paris  I 
saw  a  heroic  sized  painting  of  the  headless  St.  Denis  on  his 
nine-mile  march,  with  his  head  in  his  hands.  Thus  religion 
and  art  unite  in  teaching  the  truth  of  the  legend.  Is  my  story 
of  Hadrian  and  the  poker  game  with  men  who  had  been 
dead  150  years  or  so  any  less  credible  than  these*?  For 
these  reasons  I  published  no  retraction  or  correction. 

As  I  said,  Hadrian  died  in  138.  Somehow  the  villa 
business  was  a  glut  on  the  market;  didn't  pay  dividends; 
it  was  anybody's  who  came  along  and  wanted  it;  and  for 
1,500  years,  more  or  less,  dirt  collected  over  all  this  glory, 
and  the  rivers  which  fed  the  lakes,  ponds,  and  baths  filled 
them  full  of  alluvial  deposits,  and  then  covered  up  all  that 
splendid  art  from  twenty  to  forty  feet  deep.  Temples  and 
palaces  crumbled,  and  if  the  Catholic  church  had  not  begun 
collecting  art  relics,  one  can  hardly  tell  what  would  have 
become  of  all  these  treasures.  The  Vatican  has  a  mag- 
nificent collection  of  art,  largely  from  just  such  old  ruins  as 
Hadrian's  villa;  it  is  said  that  more  than  3,000  specimens 
of  sculpture  in  the  Vatican  came  from  this  villa.  About 
1870  the  Italian  government  bought  it,  and  now  it  is  one 
of  Italy's  show  places. 

Every  art  gallery  has  specimens  of  sculpture  from 
Hadrian's  villa.  It  makes  one  feel  sort  of  "creepy"  to 
look  at  a  full-sized  statue  of  Hadrian,  so  real  and  life-like, 
so  kindly  and  so  noble,  and  then  reflect  that  the  unfor- 
tunate fellow  has  been  dead  for  over  1,700  years;  but 


348        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

plainly  he  made  things  hum  when  he  was  alive.  Now  his 
charming  old  villa  is  covered  with  ruins;  you  don't  see 
much  of  them  save  where  they  have  been  excavated.  To 
find  new  ruins  you  must  go  from  ten  to  forty  feet  below  the 
surface.  Nature,  the  dear  old  girl!  What  a  sweetheart 
she  is!  How  she  forgives  and  forgets  the  foibles  and 
frivolities  and  vanities  of  the  children  of  men,  and  plants 
green  grass,  and  sweet  glowing  flowers,  and  grand  shady 
trees  to  cover  up  in  a  mantle  of  beauty  the  shortcomings 
and  mistakes  of  her  children,  and  crooks  her  finger  and 
calls  in  the  sweet-voiced  birds  to  sing  an  everlasting  halle- 
lujah chorus  over  their  graves.  And  how  democratic  she 
is !  Rich  or  poor,  noble  or  peasant,  all  are  hers ;  all  receive 
alike  her  loving  touch.  And  so  shall  she  do  with  us.  The 
same  bright  sunshine  and  grateful  shade,  and  sweet,  gentle 
rains — do  they  not  spread  in  benediction  over  all,  as  of  old4? 
Such  noble  trees  as  have  grown  up  all  over  Hadrian's  villa 
since  his  day,  and  several  generations  of  trees  have  grown 
and  died  and  gone  the  way  of  Hadrian. 

Later  on  we  visited  in  Rome  the  church  Santa  Maria 
Maggiore,  built  or  started  in  the  fifth  century,  which  has 
had  the  luck  never  to  have  been  burned  or  hurt  by  earth- 
quake or  war.  In  it  we  saw  over  forty  magnificent  marble 
columns  of  the  Doric  order,  all  from  heathen  temples  in 
Hadrian's  villa;  still  later  we  visited  the  church  of  San 
Giovanni  Lateran,  and  there  were  as  many  more  of  those 
majestic  marble  pillars  from  the  same  place.  Better,  of 
course,  saved  thus  than  to  have  been  lost  to  the  world 
altogether. 

That  night  we  reached  our  hotel  physically  weary 


TWO   DAYS   IN   ROME  349 

beyond  description.  And  thus  ended  my  first  day  in  Rome, 
which  seems  to  have  been  spent  not  in  Rome  at  all. 

Next  morning  was  Sunday.  An  early  breakfast  and 
then,  dressed  in  the  best  I  had,  away  to  attend  the  nine 
o'clock  choral  mass  at  St.  Peter's,  held  in  a  little  chapel,  a 
sort  of  recess  on  the  left  side  of  the  great  basilica  or  audience 
room. 

St.  Peter's  is  great;  it  can't  be  described,  it  can  only 
be  seen  and  felt.  Of  course,  one  can  say  that  the  building 
of  St.  Peter's  began  in  1450,  and  it  took  175  years  to  com- 
plete and  dedicate  it.  Michael  Angelo,  when  he  was  72 
years  old,  was  made  boss  architect,  and  so  continued  to  his 
death  at  the  age  of  90.  To  say  that  the  inside  floor  space 
is  613  feet  long  by  446  feet  wide;  that  it  is  surmounted  by 
a  dome  193  feet  in  diameter;  that  the  top  of  the  dome  is  over 
400  feet  above  the  floor;  that  this  great  dome  stands 
on  four  pillars  and  each  pillar  is  253  feet  in  circumference; 
that  it  is  the  largest  and  grandest  cathedral  in  the  world — 
say  all  that,  and  still  you  convey  no  adequate  conception  of 
St.  Peter's.  That  magnificent  edifice  talks.  It  talks  a 
language  to  me  that  I  can  feel  and  understand,  but  which 
I  can  not  translate  or  convey  to  another.  Therefore  I  say 
it  can  not  be  described,  it  can  only  be  seen  and  felt. 

What  was  that  passage  of  Emerson's  in  his  poem,  "The 
Problem,"  I  think4? 

"The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome, 
And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome, 
Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity; 
Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free — 
He  builded  better  than  he  knew, 
The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew." 


350        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

The  great  soul  of  the  architect  was  built  into  and 
became  a  part  of  that  grand  structure.  Yes,  I  am  right; 
St.  Peter's  talks  to  him  who  hath  ears  to  hear  and  eyes  to 
see. 

Now  all  you  good  people  who  are  acquainted  with  me 
know  that  I  have  about  as  much  emotion,  and  thrill,  and 
holy  whiz  as  a  well-developed  redwood  stump;  but  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  something  about  my  experience  and  sen- 
sations at  St.  Peter's  that  Sunday  morning,  and  if  you  call 
it  a  sermon  I  pronounce  on  you  a  benediction  in  advance, 
and  God  grant  that  it  may  do  you  good,  every  one. 

St.  Peter's  is  the  church  of  everybody,  rich  and  poor, 
but  especially  the  poor.  Rich  Catholics  have  rich  parish 
churches  and  give  over  grand  St.  Peter's  to  the  poor. 
Think  of  all  that  magnificence  of  architecture,  and  art,  and 
music,  and  none  so  poor  he  can  not  claim  it ! — and  none  so 
poor  he  does  not  claim  it!  But  the  choral  mass!  The 
choir  was  male  wholly;  no  lady  in  the  choir.  It  is  sort  of 
pitiful  to  read  the  records  of  the  saintly  lights  of  the  Church 
concerning  women.  "A  good  woman  is  more  undiscover- 
able  than  a  white  raven,"  said  St.  Gregoire.  What  sort 
of  a  neighborhood  did  he  live  in,  anyhow?  And  there 
was  St.  Pierre.  Hear  him:  "When  I  hear  a  woman 
speak,  I  fly  as  from  a  hissing  serpent."  I  wonder  what 
infamous  insult  he  had  offered  the  woman  that  made  her 
hiss?  And  there  was  that  celebrated  Irish  missionary  of 
the  sixth  century,  Columbkill,  who  built  the  great  monastic 
establishment  on  the  island  of  lona  in  the  Hebrides.  He 
wouldn't  have  a  woman  on  the  island — no,  nor  a  cow. 
"For,"  said  this  saintly  Irishman,  "wherever  there  is  a 


TWO   DAYS   IN   ROME  351 

cow  there  is  a  woman ;  and  wherever  there  is  a  woman  there 
is  mischief."  The  saintly  slanderous  sinners ! 

But  the  old  whims  and  fashions  adhere  to  St.  Peter's; 
the  choirs  are  male,  but  oh,  how  they  can  sing!  And  as 
their  sweet,  grand  music  rolled  away  out  through  the  great 
vaults  of  that  noble  building,  all  the  grand  accessories 
faded  away,  and  nought  was  left  but  music  and  worship. 
I  felt  it;  I  can't  describe  it.  An  hour  of  such  music! 
When  it  was  over,  I  turned  and  met  Dr.  Dille,  the  great 
Methodist  clergyman  of  Oakland;  his  face  glowed  as  if 
just  from  a  live  Methodist  prayer-meeting.  A  little 
moisture  was  in  the  corner  of  his  eye  (the  same  with  me). 
"Judge,"  said  he,  "such  worship  I  can  join  in  anywhere. 
This  building  is  the  spirit  of  worship."  So  there  was  an- 
other man  to  whom  that  great  cathedral  talked,  and  he 
understood  the  language. 

The  music  was  grand,  absorbing,  overpowering. 
Around  me  I  saw  a  hard-fisted  man  with  his  two  little  boys, 
all  in  Sunday  togs.  All  stopped  at  the  sacred  alabaster 
font,  wet  their  foreheads  with  the  holy  water,  bowed  and 
crossed  themselves  and  went  on  to  the  service.  Another, 
a  pug-nosed,  low-browed  descendant  of  a  Roman  senator, 
with  a  shirt  none  too  clean;  then  a  woman  with  a  faded 
shawl  over  her  head  nursing  her  baby;  another  woman  in 
old,  black,  faded  clothes,  plainly  a  widow — these  were  types 
of  hundreds  I  saw;  people  with  whom  life's  battle  is  sharp 
and  continuous,  all  devout,  all  intent  on  the  service,  all 
apparently  appreciative  of  the  grand  music  and  noble  sur- 
roundings, and  all  seemingly  pervaded  with  the  sense  of 
ownership,  as  if  they  were  a  part  of  it  all.  Now  if  these 


352        ADDITIONAL  LETTERS   AND   LECTURE 

people  come  here  of  a  Sunday,  and  by  this  service  are  lifted 
up,  and  consoled,  and  strengthened,  and  the  week's  contest 
seems  less  bitter  and  less  strenuous,  who  am  I,  that  I  should 
cry  out,  "Idolatry,  superstition,  and  ignorance !"  Later  on, 
in  a  chapel  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  cathedral  nearer  the 
front,  I  saw  Michael  Angelo's  wonderful  statuary,  "Mater 
Pieta,"  the  Holy  Mother  holding  in  her  lap  the  crucified 
Christ.  Oh,  the  expression  of  pity,  and  love,  and  anguish, 
and  pathos,  and  yet  of  content  that  her  dead  she  had !  Oh, 
the  cunning  hand  of  that  great  artist  who  could  write  on  the 
cold  marble  so  much  that  no  tongue  could  express ! 

Now  if  some  widowed  woman,  or  some  man  bereft  of 
her  he  so  loved,  or  some  parent  heartbroken  for  them  who 
are  not,  or  some  lone  orphaned  heart,  should  bow  before 
this  image,  crying:  "O  blessed  Mother  of  Christ,  pity 
me !  pity  me !"  and  sweet  pity  should  come,  and  consolation, 
and  help,  and  strength — who  are  you,  who  am  I,  that  we 
should  cry  out,  "Idolatry !  Superstition !  "  The  tragedy  is 
not  yet  finished.  It  is  by  such  narrowness  and  bigotry  we 
crucify  our  Lord  afresh. 

Now  there  are  some  young  people  here.  I  don't  know 
if  you  ever  think  of  these  things.  I  don't  know  if  I  did 
at  your  age;  I  think  I  did  not.  But,  like  me,  you  will  get 
older  some  day  and  these  things  will  come  to  you;  and 
they  will  be  a  solace  and  a  blessing  to  you,  and  make  of  you 
broader  and  better  men  and  women.  And  just  remember, 
when  that  day  comes,  that  I  said  it  would  come,  and,  as  I 
just  said,  the  enjoyment  of  these  feelings  and  the  contem- 
plation of  these  thoughts  will  make  you  better,  broader, 
and  happier  men  and  women.  God  is  good;  don't  forget 


TWO   DAYS   IN   ROME  353 

it.  Didn't  I  say  these  are  things  one  can  feel?  Who  can 
describe  them*?  I  could  say,  oh,  how  much  more!  This 
however,  concludes  my  sermon  on  St.  Peter's.  I  won't  ask 
you  how  you  like  it.  I  pronounced  my  benediction  in 
advance.  I  submit  the  case. 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or  on  the 

date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


QCT19W54L 


6  Dec'55CT 

. 


L 


REC'D  LD 

JAN  2  7  1958 


REC'D  05 

JAN  2  7  1958 


JAH3J  36! 


LD  21-100m-l, *54(1887sl6)476 


YD  033 


166941 


